


Beyond This Illusion

by Senna_Frost



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alive Mary Winchester, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Federal Agents, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Castiel, BAMF Castiel, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Case Fic, Castiel Whump, Dean Whump, Deja Vu (2007 Movie), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FBI Agent Castiel, FBI Agent Sam Winchester, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mary Winchester Feels, Mutual Pining, Older Castiel, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Slow Burn, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Time Travelling Castiel, Twink Dean, Voyeurism, Younger Dean, deancaspinefest, deancaspinefest2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senna_Frost/pseuds/Senna_Frost
Summary: It's just another day in the life for Agent Castiel Novak when he's called to the scene of a horrific bombing, but when he meets Dean Winchester, cold on the slab, he finds that he'll do just about anything in this race against the clock to change a future that may or may not have already come to pass, even if he has to make it up as he goes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, hope you're all having a lovely winter break! This is just a little idea I had after watching one of my favorite movies, Deja Vu. Knowledge of the film isn't necessary to enjoy the fic, seeing as I've lifted quite a few scenes straight from the movie, though there will be some major changes and of course a happy ending. For those of you wondering, yes, I am definitely working on the next chapter of "In the Land of Sun and Rain," its just giving me kind of a hard time right now with writer's block and all but I AM working on it, so thank you for all your kind comments. I have also signed up for the DeanCasJimmy MiniBang, so that's another fun thing to look forward to! Have a wonderful Sunday and happy reading, enjoy! :-)

 

 

 

It was 10:48am on a gloriously sunny Fat Tuesday in March and with only a week or so left of carnival season, Mardi Gras was in full swing in New Orleans. Peoples from every walk of life milled around enjoying the festivities. From parading boats navigating the waterways, the fun-loving Krewes tossed beads, doubloons and random trinkets to the throngs of parade-goers waving to them on the banks.

 

A rowdy group of sailors who were on shore leave caroused past, flooding Canal Street on their way to catch the Algiers Ferry, merrily swarming aboard. They intermingled with groups of school children on fields trips to the Aquarium of the Americas and various other day workers and party-goers. Colorful language and happy laughter filled the air.

 

The last few stragglers quickly boarded as the air horns blasted, signaling departure. Along the dock, the crew of the U.S.S Nimitz played a rousing rendition of “The Saints Go Marching In,” on brass ensemble while onlookers clapped and sang along.

 

It was a little over a year and a half since Hurricane Katrina had hit the Gulf Coast and devastated New Orleans among others, but they were recovering well, uplifting banners everywhere proclaiming that “Katrina Only Made Us Stronger!”

 

One could only hope it was true.

 

As the ferry came up on the Crescent City Connections Bridge, it gently corrected course, giving a wide berth to a bulk carrier known as the IVS Hunter that was also crossing under the bridge going the other way. Overhead on the bridge, a lone man on a motorcycle watched intently as the ferry passed the carrier and glided away to its destination of historic Algiers Point on the West Bank.

 

 

At the same time, on the lower level of the ferry, the deck attendant noticed a man suspiciously exiting his vehicle, a red and tan late model Ford Bronco, long after all passengers were supposed to be safely ensconced on the upper deck.

 

When the deck attendant reached the vehicle however, the man was nowhere to be seen. Peering in through the driver's side window the attendant saw the keys dangling from the ignition, also strange, since the car owners were to keep the keys on their person after parking and locking their cars and heading up to the passenger deck.

 

Trying the handle, the attendant found that it was indeed locked, meaning that some hapless person had locked themselves out of their car. Circling around to the back of the vehicle to take down the license plate number, the attendant realized the plates had been ripped off, which just screamed stolen vehicle. As if to add to his unease, he picked up a faint, incessant beeping noise and leaning in closer, he cupped his hands around his eyes to see better a sight that made his blood run cold.

 

The back seats had been torn out for the extra space to house six large blue barrels all lashed together with intricate wiring sprouting out the tops, with each wire connected to a black box with flickering red numbers. The three seconds it took for his brain to process the fact that there was a homemade bomb in the back of the car were three seconds too many as the device suddenly went off, incinerating him instantly.

 

The explosion was horrific, the air turned to fire and thick black smoke as the ferry exploded with all the force of a small sun. Bodies alight with flames rained down into the Mississippi, flaming debris comprised of the boat, body parts and the vehicles that had been on board littered the surrounding waters. The stench of seared flesh, propellant and burning metal and plastic lay heavy on the breeze. The smoking wreckage floated forlornly amidst the carnage of what just moments ago had been a beautiful, joyous day.

 

 

                                                                                               ~*~X~*~

 

 

 

A little while later, once more, Canal Street was inundated with people, only this time it wasn't carefree parade-goers but rather emergency services vehicles, shocked onlookers and the terrified relatives of those who had been on board the ill-fated ferry trying to find out whether or not their loved one was a lucky survivor or a charred corpse.

Panic and chaos reigned throughout as EMTs rushed to and fro, tending to the wounded and the dying. Police officers tried to contain the situation, answering what questions they could and doing their best to comfort the frightened masses. News helicopters buzzed around overhead filming live coverage while up on the bridge reporters chattered anxiously, trying to get the scoop on what happened. Harbor Police boats and U.S. Coast Guard watercraft patrolled the waters, saving the living, retrieving the dead and collecting the remains of the wreck.

 

Black body bags were already piling up as Agent Castiel Novak of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives pulled up in his government issued vehicle. Climbing out of the car, he looked around desolately at the tragic scene that surrounded him before rubbing his hands tiredly over his face. He'd just spent two months undercover busting up a drug ring and it was only his second day back at work, the first day back having been spent filling out copious amounts of paperwork on the undercover case, making sure all his “i's” were dotted and all his “t's” crossed. He'd stayed up late getting all the paperwork filed properly and had hoped today would just be a run-of-the-mill day, not some nightmare blood bath like the scene that met his eyes now.

 

Wearily, Castiel pulled on a navy blue windbreaker with “ATF” emblazoned in gold on the back and a matching baseball cap as he gazed around, wondering who was in charge of this disaster. Striding down a narrow walkway that was now doubling as a storage area for all the bodies that would be shipped back to the morgue, he turned the corner and came upon a cluster of law enforcement officers.

 

A grizzled looking man with a neatly trimmed beard and a cap that proclaimed “FBI” greeted him gruffly and introduced himself as Agent Bobby Singer. The other men were NOPD officers and other government officials sent to investigate the incident and presently Singer decreed that they'd all split up into pairs to examine the wreckage, the bridge and surrounding blast radius areas, of which there were many.

 

Castiel ended up with Singer, who might've been grumpy as shit, though who could blame him? But at least he handed over a cup of still-warm coffee to Castiel, who was in desperate need of a caffeine fix and accepted it gratefully. They spent the rest of the morning out on the water, helping fish fragments of people and ferry parts out of the water; later they searched the bridge for trace evidence before finally ending up on the south shore where more flotsam had washed up.

 

By early afternoon it had started to rain and Castiel was downright miserable, even with his trusty trenchcoat on that both Gabriel and Balthazar always said made him look like a flasher. He was tediously picking his way through the remains when something caught his eye.

 

Knocking the brim of his cap up and sliding off his Ray Bans, he crouched down for a closer look. Mixed in with the dead fish and other random bits of detritus were little hunks of what looked to be bright blue plastic with green wiring threaded through the back. Castiel had found dozens of other pieces just like it scattered along the shoreline and with gloved fingers picked this specimen up as well and slipped it into a clear plastic evidence bag, neatly writing on the outside what the contents were.

 

Straightening up, he dug his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his field office.

 

“ATF New Orleans, Agent Roche speaking, how may I hurt you?”

 

Castiel cracked his first smile of the day, wry though it was, at Balthazar's antics. “I hope that's not how you always answer the phone,” Castiel chided, trying and failing to sound stern.

 

“Not at all, only for you, Cas,” Balthazar snarked back.

 

“And if it hadn't been me?”

 

“Well, that's what caller I.D. is for darling!”

 

“Whatever. You sound bored, let me give you something to do.”

 

“Oooh Cassie, I get all tingly when you take control like that!” Balthazar chortled.

 

“Shut up, Bal, and pay attention. I want you to call New Orleans PD, I want all surveillance from the Algiers dock. Then call City Transit, I want the Crescent City Bridge surveillance, westbound between 10:00am and 11:00am, think you can handle that?”

 

“Oh please, at least give me something _hard_ to do, will you?” Balthazar leered down the line.

 

“Just shut up and do it, Bal,” Castiel gritted out, trying not to smirk at the innuendo.

 

“Aww, feeling a bit grumpy today are we?” Balthazar asked, a consoling note in his tone.

 

“If you were where I am right now, and have been all day, you'd be in a shitty mood too, you ass. Has Gabriel called to check in yet?”

 

“Nope, tried his cell, got no answer. I'm sure he's floating around somewhere.”

 

“Have him call me when he does check in, please,” Castiel requested.

 

“Your wish is my command,” Balthazar simpered.

 

Castiel hung up with a chuckle.

 

 

                                                                                                ~*~X~*~

 

 

Awhile later, Castiel and Singer left the beach and headed back up to the Crescent City Bridge where the men they had met with earlier in the day had gathered again to compare notes. Instead of joining his colleagues right away though, Castiel continued to go over the areas that the bomb blast had affected with a fine tooth comb, he'd had a hunch about something in particular and he was determined to prove himself right. It was as he was perched on one of the repair ladders on the underbelly of the south side of the bridge that a man called out to him.

 

“Hey, are you Agent Milton? Gabriel Milton, ATF?” The man was built like a moose, at least seven feet tall, swishy brown hair and big hazel eyes. He wore jeans and a black windbreaker with aviators and looked more like an overgrown puppy than the law enforcement agent Castiel assumed he was. Who was this kid? He didn't even look old enough to drink yet.

 

Hiding his scrutiny, Castiel glanced down at him from where he was carefully taking scrapings of trace evidence from the explosion and smiled. “No, I'm Agent Castiel Novak, ATF, Gabriel is my partner.”

 

The man tipped his head in acknowledgment, “I'm Agent Sam Wesson, FBI.”

 

“How you doing?” Castiel nodded back.

 

“Not bad, considering. Where's Milton?”

 

“On vacation,” Castiel answered, a mite sarcastically.

 

Wesson raised an eyebrow questioningly at him but only said, “Not anymore. We're calling in half the region in on this, it's priority number one right now. We're all gonna have to work together here. Can you reach him?”

 

Castiel shrugged. “We've tried, he's not picking up his phone.”

 

“Well try harder, it's important. Obviously.” Wesson glanced around the underside of the bridge, taking in the damage done by the blast; the structure had been pronounced sound and most of what would need to be repaired was mainly cosmetic.

 

“You call him then, maybe he'll pick up for you,” Castiel quipped, trying to bite back his annoyance as he turned away to continue scraping some oily, gritty black substance into an evidence bag. Of course this was important, he wasn't a fucking imbecile and it was not his problem that Gabriel had apparently decided to “lose” his phone.

 

Wesson stepped up onto the ledge next to the repair ladder Castiel was balanced on and craned his neck to see what Castiel was doing.

 

“So, what are you looking for?”

 

“Anything that doesn't belong,” Castiel replied shortly, clambering down off the ladder and walking further down the ledge, all the while gazing above for more trace evidence; Wesson trailed after him interestedly until Castiel stopped suddenly, noticing something on one of the concrete pilings. Rotating his baseball cap on his head til it was backwards, he pulled off his sunglasses, tucking them into his pocket and jerked his chin at Wesson.

 

“Hey, you wanna give me a boost here?”

 

“What? Oh, yeah, uh, sure,” Wesson leaped forward eagerly, humorously reminding Castiel of a labrador retriever puppy keen to play fetch.

 

Wesson bent down a little and clasped his hands together, forming a makeshift stirrup that Castiel easily stepped up into as the kid then lifted him up so high, so fast, he almost whacked his head on the underside of the support beam.

 

“Assbutt,” Castiel grunted under his breath, trying to secure his footing on the safety rail. He _would_ get the goddamn overgrown, mutated puppy man with super strength on today, of all days.

 

“Sorry!” Wesson called sheepishly from below.

 

Castiel ignored him in favor of wiping off more of the same gritty black filth that he'd found lower down and on various other surfaces in the blast radius. Squinting at it dubiously, he cautiously sniffed closely at it, confirming his suspicions as Wesson scrunched up his face in disgust down below.

 

Peeling off the thin gloves smeared with the black goo, Castiel neatly encased them in yet another evidence bag and stowed it away in his pocket then took hold of the hand Wesson had stretched out to him and hopped down with his help.

 

“So what is it?”

 

“ANFO. Ammonium nitrate, water soluble. Fuel oil would have burned off during the blast. Between the river and the rain, if ANFO was used, the only place you'd find it would be--”

 

“Underneath this bridge,” Wesson finished for him, his surprised smile tinged with new respect.

 

“That's right,” Castiel flashed him a grin as he walked past. He'd teach this pup a few new tricks yet.

 

Together, they trudged back up to where Singer and the others were still congregated.

 

“We can't rule out an accident at this point, it's not officially a crime scene yet!” One of the officers was heatedly arguing.

 

“Well, here's a thought, declare it a goddamn crime scene already!” Singer growled, looking fed up. “And double the perimeter so we don't have wall-to-wall vehicles down there.”

 

“No, we're gonna need all of our manpower for witness control and evidence processing. We need to keep it tight until we can determine that this is actually a crime investigation.”

 

Castiel chose that moment to step forward. “Gentlemen, it is a crime investigation,” he declared solemnly.

 

Behind him, Wesson, who'd also heard the whole conversation was trying to hide his smirk at the skeptical grumbling, though Singer looked relieved and didn't try to disguise his shit-eating grin, flapping his hand impatiently.

 

“Well, boy? Show me what you got!”

 

Castiel shot him a sly grin back as he pulled various evidence bags out of his pockets and held them up for inspection. “We've got some bits of electrical blasting cap and what appears to be leg wire. About a million of these blue particles washed up on the Algiers side. It's probably from a plastic container or a barrel of some sort.”

 

“ANFO?” Inquired the same officer who'd been giving Singer a hard time. Castiel hadn't bothered to catch his name earlier.

 

“Most likely,” Castiel agreed. “There was post-blast residue under the Crescent City Bridge. The insulation on the leg wire will inform us of who the manufacturer of the blasting cap is. Then we can go after the switching mechanism and the bomb's power source.” Castiel handed the evidence bags over to Singer. “We probably don't need to wait for the lab to tell us what we already know; that this is an explosive and a trigger,” Castiel continued.

 

“And you are?” Asked condescendingly, it was the portly officer who'd been arguing with Singer. He was tall but pudgy and balding with rather buggy grey-green eyes and was looking mighty disgruntled at all the information Castiel had just dumped in their laps. Singer, on the other hand, looked thrilled and answered for him.

 

“This here is Agent Castiel Novak, ATF. And this surly bastard is Zachariah Adler, NOPD.” Adler grudgingly shook hands with Castiel.

 

“Who's in charge?” Castiel queried, glancing at Singer. “We're still figuring that out,” Singer grumbled with a dark look over at Adler.

 

“Gentlemen, please, I'm in charge here,” Zachariah cut in smoothly, with a used car salesman smile that showed too many teeth.

 

“We'll see about that,” Singer grimaced, moving away and nudging Castiel and Wesson ahead of him, heading for one of the large white trailers that had “NOPD” stenciled on the side of it.

 

“This is a damn police investigation, there'd better be a full coffee pot in here,” Singer groused as they filed inside where it was relatively warm and most of all, _dry_. All three men let out happy sighs at their first sips of coffee, which only tasted passable but more importantly, was _hot_.

 

Eventually, Wesson wandered off and Singer clapped Castiel on the shoulder and told him he'd see him tomorrow; taking that as a dismissal for the day, Castiel said his goodbyes and drove back to the ATF headquarters where he found Balthazar, looking sullen and bored, going through the surveillance camera footage in his usual blasé manner.

 

“See anything?” Castiel asked sarcastically.

 

“Traffic,” Balthazar sniped back.

 

“Hit rewind for me,” Castiel requested, peeling off his trenchcoat and taking a seat next to Balthazar. “Did Gabriel call?”

 

“Not a peep from him. No answer on his cell, so we left another message.” Balthazar replied casually, but underneath that, Castiel could see the same worry in his friend's eyes that mirrored his own.

 

Pulling out his cell, he hit number one on his speed dial and waited as the line rang and rang. Gabriel's answering machine finally kicked in and Castiel hesitated a moment before deciding to leave another message, “Hello, Gabriel, it's me, listen I know you might still be upset with me but you need to get down here as soon as possible, we've got a serious situation on our hands.” Castiel hung up with out saying goodbye.

 

He slipped his phone back into his pocket as one of their interns came barging in with an armload of files.

 

Becky was...nice...well, she had a lot of energy and seemed easily excited, in fact, her eyes were gleaming a little crazily right now. “Hey Castiel, Orleans Parish is on line 1 for you, it's Sheriff Mills. They pulled a body out of the water and they want a profile.”

 

“Alright, thank you Becky and tell Sheriff Mills they don't need a profile, just bag the body and I'll call her back.”

 

Becky grinned at him with seemingly all her teeth and declared, “I'm on it!” and rushed away.

 

 

“Say, did that guy ever get ahold of you?” Balthazar asked, after Becky had bounded off, as he handed Castiel what was probably his fourth or fifth cup of coffee for the day, he'd lost count.

 

Castiel shook his head, taking a healthy gulp of coffee that nearly scorched the roof of his mouth. “Shit! No, what guy?”

 

“You know, sexy voice, called and asked if you were tall, dark and handsome. I gave you two out of three.” Balthazar grinned smugly, passing him a piece of scratch paper with smudged scribbles on it.

 

“Two out of three, hmm? I guess I should be thanking you for that much.” Castiel said wryly, barely looking at the scrap of paper as he fished his cell back out and dialed the number hastily written on the paper. He bumped Balthazar with his elbow, as the line started ringing in his ear, “Hey, stop, hit play, right there. And next time, at least try to make it legible!” He waved the messy slip of paper in the other man's face.

 

Balthazar rolled his eyes but obliged and Castiel stared at the footage as he waited on the phone. The answering machine picked up and still staring at the footage, he reeled off his info at the beep, “Hello, this is ATF Agent Castiel Novak returning your call, my cell number is 504-555-0918.” He hung up quickly as something on the footage caught his eye.

 

“What's that?” They both leaned in closer, peering at the blurry footage. “Looks like a man on a motorcycle,” Balthazar muttered.

 

“Run it forward a bit,” Castiel urged him, eyes glued to the screen. The man was just...standing there, gazing intently at...something. Like he was waiting for something to happen, perhaps. Well, that wasn't fucking ominous at all, considering what went down only a minute or so later.

 

“What is he doing?” Castiel wondered aloud. “Taking a piss?” Balthazar offered, grinning lewdly.

 

Castiel smirked at him, “Move the tape forward a little more. What time does it say?”

 

“Hmm...10:47am, right before the explosion.” Balthazar skipped the tape forward a bit. “Okay, at 10:49, he gets on the motorcycle and leaves, heading westbound.”

 

They both leaned back from the monitor, sobering at the realization that the man on the motorcycle just might be their bombing suspect.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel got home late that night, as he did most nights. It wasn't really a problem, he had no one waiting on him; well, no one human, anyways, but don't tell Meg that. His cat was a happy camper as long as her auto feeder was kept full and she received her half a can of stinky wet food every morning, though occasionally Meg would deign to sit in his lap and let him brush her while she purred her satisfaction.

 

Tonight was one of those nights and Castiel mindlessly petted her as he watched the press conference about the bombing that was airing live on the local news.

 

Early estimates placed the number of casualties at 477 men, women and children. Castiel's heart sank as he gazed at the news footage taken throughout the day. Burnt toys, purses, lunch boxes, a charred school bus that was being towed out of the river and so many black bags of bodies lined up haphazardly flashed across the screen.

 

Singer was conducting the press conference (guess he was in charge after all!) and Castiel admired how he handled it, closing with some words of comfort.

 

“Our hearts go out to all of those affected by this tragedy. Now, Lord knows this city has seen its share of pain, but unlike Katrina, this disaster was _not_ an act of nature. After careful reviewing of evidence retrieved at the scene, we have concluded that this was a _**deliberate**_ act of terrorism and the President concurs with our assessment. On our end, we have to ask for your patience, as the investigation will take time seeing as it's a unique and complicated crime scene. There's no baggage checks, there's no flight data recorder. There are maximum casualties and most of the evidence is under a 100 feet of muddy Mississippi water. There are no shortcuts. But my promise to you, is that we will do our damnedest to get to the bottom of this and bring the responsible parties to justice. Thank you. ”

 

Castiel turned the T.V. off after that, not wanting to relive the day anymore and crawled into bed, Meg jumping up after him and once he'd gotten comfortable, she settled down on his chest as if sensing he could use some cat therapy, gently kneading her claws into his t-shirt. After a while, he turned over, displacing Meg, much to her dismay and spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, unable to sleep, the thought of the week that lay ahead of him plaguing his mind.

 

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

The next morning dawned much too early, but appropriately gray and overcast, matching Castiel's current mood as he left his car at the ATF headquarters in favor of catching a ride on the streetcar down to ground zero of the bombing to see where he might lend his services.

On the way there, he called Sheriff Mills for a briefing on the body they'd found the day before. Castiel had worked a few cases with Jody Mills before and found her smart, professional and friendly.

 

“Hey there Cas, I know you got your hands full right now, I appreciate you getting back to me.”

 

“No problem Jody, happy to help. What have you got for me?”

 

“Well, a couple of kids found a young man face down in the waters off Algiers Point. Poor kid was burned over 30% of his body.”

 

“Right, well you're going to see a lot of that over the next few weeks, so just have Crime Scene bag it for us.” Castiel replied regretfully.

 

“We've already done that, the body is at the coroner's right now,” Jody assured him.

 

“Wait, you're saying that Crime Scene's already been there?” Surprise colored Castiel's tone.

 

“Yeah, they've been and gone,” the Sheriff confirmed.

 

“Well, exactly what time did this man wash up on shore?”

 

“Umm...the kids called it in at 10:42am.”

 

“You mean 11:42am, don't you?” Castiel's heart started to beat a little faster, his instincts telling him that something was wrong here.

 

“No, I mean 10:42am! I've got the paperwork right here in front of me... _And_ I've got my reading glasses on,” Jody sassed.

 

“Alright, Jody, thanks,” Castiel hung up, perturbed.

 

How did a man who was supposedly a victim of a bombing wash up on shore, dead and burned, _before_ the actual bombing ever happened?

 

Castiel's gut was telling him that this man, whoever he was, was the key to this whole thing.

 

He put in a call to Balthazar to check all of the missing persons reports in the last 48 hours in the area to see if any of them matched the body Orleans Parish had found.

 

Castiel then quickly looked up and dialed the number for the Orleans Parish Coroner's Office, letting them know he was headed over and that there was a body he needed to examine.

 

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

The Medical Examiner was a decidedly bubbly woman named Donna Hanscum, with long blonde hair up in a ponytail, a powdered doughnut in one hand and what was probably her third cup of coffee in the other hand if her enthusiasm was anything to go by.

 

“Hiya, welcome, come right in, Jodes told me you were comin'! Castiel, right?” she greeted him, offering a steaming mug of coffee and waving at a box of fresh fried dough. Castiel smiled back at her, accepting the coffee graciously and selected an old fashioned for himself from the generous array of pastries.

 

Castiel followed her back into a large sterile lab when she motioned for him to do so, devouring his doughnut and sipping at his coffee as he went.

 

“Well, let's get right down to it, eh?” Donna declared as she pulled on a protective smock over her clothes while still munching on another doughnut, this one powdered and jelly-filled.

 

Castiel's eyes widened a bit and he suddenly wished he hadn't eaten that old fashioned, but he sighed and set down his nearly empty cup of coffee and donned protective gear and latex gloves anyway.

 

“Alright, so walk me through your findings?” Castiel requested politely.

 

“Oh sure, you betcha,” Donna led him over to the first examining table which held a sheet-draped corpse and peeled the covering back gingerly.

 

And then Castiel found himself gazing down at one of the most gorgeous and haunting faces he'd ever seen. He didn't usually think of men as beautiful, though men were mainly who he found himself attracted to, but somehow, handsome just didn't seem to cover it for this stunner.

 

 _'Where have you been all my life?'_ Castiel wondered.

 

The kid had high, sharp cheekbones, which were marred by cuts and bruises and a strong jawline, paired with a full, pouting pink mouth and the greenest eyes he'd ever come across, though now they were clouded and glassy, shadowed by thick, dark lashes. Still, their color reminded him of a ring he remembered his mother wearing when he was a child, the stone had been a peridot, a gift from Castiel's father when her birthday had rolled around in August. 

Leaning closer, he noticed the pale freckles scattered all over the kid's face, even in the creases of his eyelids and on the edge of his upper lip.

 

God, he hated it when they died with their eyes open, and this poor kid was no exception, but the look of shock and disbelief mixed with sadness somehow made it all worse, with his mouth hanging slightly open, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. Castiel wished he could have seen what must have once been a mega-watt smile.

 

The kid was dressed simply, jeans and a black Led Zeppelin t-shirt and a green plaid over-shirt, but strangely, no shoes, only a single white sock on one foot. The kid must've been caught by surprise in his home when he was abducted. Well, at least he had good taste in music even if he was sorta dressed like a lumberjack.

 

 

Castiel had kind of zoned out during his inspection of the young man and so now tuned back in to hear Donna saying, “The victim is a white, Caucasian male, somewhere between 18 and 28 years of age. Immediately evident is the focal charring of the limbs and torso. Anterior face, neck and chest are intact, though swollen from apparent immersion in water. There are what appear to be abrasions and mild burns around the wrists and ankles, from possibly rope or some other material, used to subdue the victim.”

 

Castiel reached out to tilt the kid's face to the side, exposing where the right side of his ear, cheek and throat had been badly burned, the golden brown stubble that matched his short hair singed away. In fact, there were burns all up and down the right side of his body and back. His clothing was torn and ripped, burnt and dirty.

 

“Hey, hold his hand there for me, will ya?”

 

“Huh?” Castiel looked up in surprise to see Donna holding up the kid's right hand which had all of the fingers neatly sheared off at mid-knuckle.

 

“C'mere and hold his hand up so I can take a Polaroid,” she instructed. Castiel complied, circling around to her side of the table, gently taking the kid's hand in his own so Donna could get a clear shot of the damage. He had nice hands, from what Castiel could see of the other, undamaged hand, large and slightly rough and sporting the same freckles as his face; he had working man's hands, with calluses and neatly trimmed nails and briefly, Castiel wondered what it would have been to hold hands with the man. His stomach churned a little at the sight of the kid's fingers all sliced off, but after a few seconds it calmed down.

 

Donna continued on with her analysis, “Each digit of the right hand has been severed, between the middle and distal phalanges. Thanks,” she said as she snapped a picture, the film whirring inside the camera and spitting out a white square photo. Castiel set the kid's hand down carefully.

 

“The angle of shearing indicates a single, sharp force trauma, possibly caused by shrapnel.”

 

“No. No, it's too even to be shrapnel trauma,” Castiel cut in. It was clear to him that someone had chopped this kid's fingers off to try to hide his identity, for whatever reason. But then, why hadn't both hands been missing fingers? Maybe it wasn't to hide the kid's identity, but rather to conceal some incriminating evidence that might reveal the killer's identity instead. 

 

Donna nodded her head in agreement and forged on, “Posterior charring gives off a strong odor, suggesting perimortem immersion in burning fuel.”

 

Castiel acknowledged her statement as he rubbed his thumb over a smudge on the kid's forehead and then licked his thumb, “Diesel,” he confirmed.

 

“Accelerant, maybe, ya think?”

 

“I don't know...if he was that close to the bomb, he probably wouldn't be laying here right now,” Castiel guessed as he leaned down for a closer look at the kid's mouth, prodding at the plush lips curiously, determinedly avoiding thinking about what they might have felt like pressed against his own. Some kind of sticky residue rubbed off on his gloved forefinger.

 

“Whatcha got there?” Donna asked in interest.

 

“You got a UV gun?”

 

“Sure do,” Donna rummaged around on a tray behind her for a few moments before coming up with the desired tool, handing it over to Castiel and flipping off the overhead lights.

 

Castiel flicked on the UV gun, scanning it over the kid's face, “You see that?”

 

“Oooh yeah, looks like duct tape there! Looks like there's some stippling too. Adhesive probably retained some substance against the water.”

 

Castiel's phone went off just then and he answered it as Donna switched the lights back on. “Yeah, go ahead.”

 

“I ran down those missing persons reports for you. I accept gifts of money, booze and blow jobs if you're interested in expressing your undying gratitude,” Balthazar announced, his smirk evident in his tone.

 

“Yes, I'm undyingly grateful to you for doing your damn job,” Castiel snorted.

 

“ _Anyways_ , a Dean Winchester was reported missing this morning. Matches the description Orleans Parish gave. Supposed to pick up his mother from the airport, pulled a no-show. I'll text you the details.”

 

“Okay, thanks,” Castiel hung up and Donna raised an eyebrow at him inquisitively. “Alright, I'd like you to do a full autopsy, concentrate on time and cause, full spread of lab tests, the whole nine yards. Just pretend like the ferry explosion never happened, okay?”

 

“Absolutely, you betcha,” Donna replied sunnily, passing Castiel the Polaroid camera when he made grabby hands at it. Leaning over, he took a clear shot of the kid's face for identity verification, waiting as the camera spewed out another white square before fanning it briskly through the air as the photograph took shape. When the image became clear, he stared at it for a few seconds; it really didn't do the kid justice, although even in death he was unfairly photogenic .

 

Donna sighed heavily, “I always hate it when the young, pretty ones come across my table, such a waste,” she said mournfully. “He's a real looker, huh? I bet he was an underwear model or somethin', with a mug like that.”

 

“Mmhmm,” Castiel nodded absently, not really listening, instead gazing down at that beautiful face one more time, staring straight into the sightless eyes, “Hello, Dean. I'm going to find out who did this to you,” he promised.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who might have noticed, yes I did change Sam from Winchester to Wesson, it just worked out better for this verse for him to be Sam Wesson than Dean's actual brother, sorry if that bums anyone out. I wanted Sam to have a bigger part in the story and this was the only way to do that. Let me know what you think in the comments and happy reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I meant to post this sooner but after reading thru this chapter, I realized I'd been playing kinda fast and loose with the plot and there were a few things that needed to be changed or better explained. Anyways, this is unbeta'd, so sorry for any errors. Enjoy! Oh, and Happy Friday y'all!

 

 

Castiel hopped a ride on the streetcar once more and spent most of the journey with his focus fixed on the photo in his hands, wondering what kind of life this kid had led and why it had been cut short so abruptly and violently.

 

He finally looked up when his phone pinged; it was a message from Balthazar with the next of kin's address, which was the kid's mother and the address of the victim himself. The mother's address was in the French Quarter, same as her son's, but a closer stop on the line, which decided the issue for Castiel of whether he wanted to check out the kid's house first, or go tell his poor mother that her child was dead.

 

And not just dead, but most likely abducted, beaten, partially dismembered then brutally murdered, his body burned.

 

Sometimes, he really hated his job.

 

The clang of the bell and the conductor's voice alerted him to his stop and so with dread in his heart, Castiel departed the streetcar and walked two blocks before making his way through a small, pretty courtyard, past tall shade trees dripping with Spanish moss and after taking a deep breath, rang the doorbell.

 

He looked around while he waited, noting the charming white wrought iron deck furniture and hand carved bird feeders. A few seconds passed and he heard footsteps before the heavy oak door swung open, revealing a slim, lovely blonde woman in her mid-40's, with worried creases in her face.

 

Dean and his mother must've shared the same kind of fashion sense, since she too, was dressed casually in jeans, boots, a faded Bob Seger concert tee and a dark blue plaid overshirt.

 

Castiel flipped open his badge, showing his I.D., grateful that for once it was right side up, as he had a bad habit of displaying it upside down, unbeknownst to him only until after he'd embarrassed himself royally. But the woman only spared it a quick glance before cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

 

“Are you here about my son? Have you found Dean?”

 

“Hello, ma'am, I presume you are Mary Winchester?' The woman nodded silently and Castiel continued on, “I'm Castiel Novak, ATF, may I please come in?”

 

“Call me Mary,” she instructed, beckoning him inside. She led him deeper in the the house, which was cozy, with an open floor plan and colorful paintings on the walls, with a few potted ferns here and there, along with a couple of comfortably squashy recliners and couches interspersed with carved wooden furniture that looked handmade, possibly by whoever had constructed the bird feeders out front, since Castiel noticed a distinct style that was a running theme in all the pieces of furniture.

 

The whole place had such an air of comfort and warmth, well-loved and lived-in, that Castiel felt a pang of longing, for when he compared it to his own sparse, impersonal apartment, the difference was stark; but he had only himself to blame, he supposed; he was never there long enough to make it feel like a home anyways, didn't really _have_ anyone to help him or motivate him into making it a home.

 

What made it worse though, was all the pictures.

 

Castiel's walls were bare and white.

 

Here, however, on every flat surface and wall, there were photographs of Dean and his mother and other family members and friends, ranging from Dean as a chubby cheeked infant and toddler with a white blonde mop of curls and large, limpid green eyes to Dean as a sometimes sullen, other times, shy looking, lanky teenager and finally to the tall, golden, grinning version of Dean that Castiel had only seen a pale imitation of in the morgue.

 

He sat down on a worn but comfy leather recliner and Mary settled across from him on a navy blue corduroy couch, an intricately carved teak coffee table separating them, as Mary tried to cover up her shaking hands by picking up a small stack of pictures, shuffling them a bit before offering them for Castiel's perusal.

 

“Um, I put some photos together of Dean, you'll need a picture for your investigation, right? I mean, he is definitely missing, he wouldn't just run off, that's not like him...” She trailed off helplessly and Castiel held the photos tightly in his hands, watching as she tried to keep it together.

 

Castiel's tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, but he knew he had to speak up here and put the poor woman out of her misery...or was he just catapulting her further into it with the news that her son was not missing, had not run off, but was, in fact, dead?

 

He took another deep breath, then said as gently as he knew how, “Uh, Mary, I'm very sorry about this, but I'm going to need you to confirm your son's identity,” Castiel withdrew the Polaroid from his trenchcoat pocket and passed it to her reverently and she received it in the same fashion, staring down at it for six long seconds before turning it over and carefully laying it face down on the coffee table, pressing her fingers against it hard, until her fingertips turned white.

 

She nodded her head minutely at Castiel and then quietly burst into tears.

 

 

Castiel was not normally an overtly tactile person, but something inside him would not let him ignore this woman's grief and this same instinct urged him to get up and sit next to her, awkwardly putting his arm around her shoulder; she tensed slightly at first but after a moment, crumpled into his side, her sobs wetting the collar of his coat and shirt, each one sounding as though it was ripped from the bottom of her heart.

 

“Why would someone do this to my baby? He was all I had left,” she whispered thickly.

 

Castiel felt his own eyes welling up and blinked back the liquid heat furiously, suddenly righteously angry at the world and all the injustice and hateful things in it that led to him being the bearer of bad news to this poor woman.

 

They sat there wordlessly, like a lull in the storm, the air tinged with grief until Mary's sobs tapered off and she got ahold of herself a bit, extricating herself from Castiel's loose grasp and leaning forward to snag a handful of tissues from the box on the table, patting her cheeks dry, looking mildly flustered as she tried to pull herself back into some semblance of order.

 

“Dean would say, 'No chick flicks, Mom!' if he were here right now,” she confessed to Castiel, exhaling shakily, hiccuping a small laugh lightly, trying for a smile through her tears.

 

Up close, Castiel could see where Dean had gotten his shapely cheekbones, bright smile and beautiful eyes, though Mary's were more blue-green, closer to lapis lazuli than Dean's peridot green. She even had a scant scattering of freckles across her nose, though none so numerous as Dean's.

 

He smiled back at her a little tremulously himself and squeezed her hand. “I think due to the situation, you're entitled to cry if you want to.”

 

“I'm fine,” she assured him, “Well, actually, I'm about as far from fine as I can get, but I'm sure you have some questions for me, don't you?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel admitted, pausing before deciding he should just dive right in, “Uh, anything that you can tell me about your son's activities over the weekend or anytime, anything at all, would be helpful,” Castiel pulled a small notebook and a pen from an inner pocket in his trenchcoat and looked at her expectantly, smiling as encouragingly as he could.

 

Mary smiled weakly back at him and dabbed at her eyes.

 

“Umm, well, I don't know, let me think...my flight was supposed to get in around 8:00am this morning but it was late, we didn't actually land til about 10:00am and Dean was supposed to pick me up but he wasn't there...I thought maybe he overslept or something, he works so hard and sometimes pulls a late shift...Anyways, um, so I took a cab and I went straight to his house. Lisa's car was gone, I thought maybe he'd finally sold it, but Baby—that's what Dean calls...called,” her voice broke a little here, “called his car, God, he loved that car like it was his child, his father gave it to him on his sixteenth birthday,” Mary laughed unsteadily. “Baby was still parked out back, but when I went inside the house, he wasn't there.”

 

Castiel clasped her hand again in solidarity with the hand he wasn't using to write down what she was saying and asked, “Who's Lisa?”

 

“Oh, Lisa is...was his fiancée, or, well, ex-fiancée. They broke up a few months ago.”

 

“And where is she now?” Castiel asked, trying to ignore the fiery hot streak of jealousy that lanced through him, followed by the relief that they'd broken up. This was no time to be petty. He firmly tamped the feelings down.

 

“She and Ben moved to Montreal. Ben is her little boy, Dean just loved him to pieces, I almost think he missed Ben more than Lisa when they broke up. Dean always wanted a lot of kids...he...Well, he was too good for her anyway,” Mary finished choppily. “But I'm sure all mothers feel that way about their sons, no one is ever good enough.”

 

Castiel smiled wanly at her, “I guess. I wouldn't know.”

 

“You will someday, when you have kids of your own,” Mary affirmed decisively. “Do you need anything else from me?”

 

“If you have the keys to his house, I would appreciate it.”

 

“Oh, of course, yes, I think I have an extra spare key,” Mary went to stand up and swayed, a little wobbly on her feet, Castiel steadied her with a hand under her elbow, she smiled her thanks and patted his hand, then stopped, “Oh, I almost forgot, he had a date! Last night on the phone, when he called me back after he got home from work, he told me that he was gonna meet someone, but he didn't say who. His friend Benny set it up.”

 

“Benny?” Castiel jotted down the name.

 

“Benny Lafitte. He works with Dean over at Palace and sometimes Dean babysits his daughter, Elizabeth when Benny and his wife, Andrea are busy,” Mary supplied, going over to the sideboard where her purse was haphazardly tossed, digging around for a moment before she came up with her keys, sliding a key with a square head off the fob and handing it to Castiel, who safely pocketed it.

 

“Okay...Thank you, that's good for now...Um...I'll be in touch, okay?” Castiel finished writing down the information and tried to smile reassuringly at her but had the feeling that it came out as more of a pained grimace since she only nodded back forlornly and he could see she was valiantly trying to keep her tears at bay.

 

Mary walked him to the door, clutching the stack of photographs of Dean to her chest and Castiel wanted to say something more, but the words just wouldn't come. He got as far as the front porch when she called him back.

 

“Agent Novak?”

 

“Castiel,” he answered with a kind smile.

 

“Castiel. I want you to take these,” Mary insisted, holding out the pictures to him.

 

“Oh, um, that's really...not necessary...” Castiel trailed off, his hands reaching out of their own volition to accept the small packet from her.

 

“Yes, it is. Just go through them when you get a chance. I know how these things go...and I...I need him to _matter_ to you Castiel, like he matters to me, so you'll do everything you can to catch this son of a bitch.” Her eyes were watery, but hardened with resolve and there was steel threading through her voice and Castiel couldn't help but be reminded of a mother bear protecting her cub.

 

Mary wiped at her eyes again and turned away to go back in the house, pausing for a moment and glanced back at him, “Take good care of those, okay? I want them back.”

 

Castiel could only nod wordlessly and tuck the pictures away into the inner breast pocket of his trenchcoat, right over his heart.

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

Castiel walked the nearly six blocks from Mary's house to Dean's in a sleepwalker's haze, his mind buzzing like a hive of bees, trying to puzzle it all out. This case was taking a decidedly personal turn and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

 

The streets were busy and cluttered with trash from the festivities of the past couple weeks, Mardi Gras was a messy holiday, that was for sure. Streamers and party flags hung limply from balconies, fluttering in the breeze and discarded beads and other detritus clogged the gutters, but Castiel was blind to all of it, a man on a mission.

 

He could feel the envelope of pictures of Dean practically burning a hole in his chest, but he resisted getting them out to go through them til a later time, when he had peace and quiet (and possibly a glass of whiskey) and could afford to be distracted. Right now, he needed to focus, needed to catch every last detail in the hope that maybe, he'd catch a break and be able to nail this bastard to the wall, winning some justice for Dean and closure for Mary.

 

Castiel entered another small courtyard that was similar to the one at Mary's house, pausing on the porch to tug on a pair of latex gloves before he fit the key into the lock and twisted, imagining what it might have been like to share this place with Dean, to come home to someone each night, to not have to be alone.

 

The door opened easily to him on well-oiled hinges and he stood there for a moment, taking everything in, letting his senses roam.

 

Dean's house reminded Castiel strongly of Mary's, the same warmth, detail and care emanated from every fixture. The layout was different, the front door opened up right into the kitchen, and Castiel could tell right away that Dean must've loved to cook. A big, round dining table with mismatched chairs occupied one corner. Copper pots and pans were hung overhead and there were shelves of cookbooks and trinkets, pictures of food, friends and family adorned the surfaces and shelves, the whole room was clean, neat and welcoming, the walls painted a sunny pale yellow that lit up like sunshine with the light coming in through the sheer cream curtains.

 

There was a large carved wooden island with the same scroll-work that Castiel had seen on the furniture at Mary's, leading him to believe that perhaps Dean was the creator of all the pieces; the love that had gone into the work clearly visible to Castiel. On top of the table there was a set of matching cat food bowls, one was empty and the other was half-full of water.

 

Castiel glanced around, not seeing hide nor hair of a cat. Wandering further into the room, he made kissy noises and tried to purr in hopes of enticing the feline out, “Kitty? Here kitty, kitty!”

 

Castiel knew he probably sounded ridiculous, making nonsense noises, but he was swiftly rewarded when a huge, chestnut brown Maine Coon cat with large hazel eyes came bounding into the kitchen, meowing plaintively.

 

Castiel scooped the cat up into his arms, rubbing underneath its chin comfortingly. The cat sniffed suspiciously at him for a few seconds before deciding that Castiel was not a threat, then proceeded to rub its head eagerly against his stubble, still meowing loudly.

 

“I bet you miss Dean, huh buddy? What's your name, anyways?” Castiel fumbled at the cat's leather collar til he found a flat golden disk with “SAMMY” engraved on it.

 

“Sammy, huh? You hungry, Sammy?” The meowing ratcheted up and Sammy practically belly-flopped out of Castiel's hold down onto the wooden island, nudging at his food bowl hopefully.

 

Casting around, Castiel noticed a large glass jar full of cat crunchies and poured out a generous helping for the hungry animal, adding fresh water to his other bowl as well. Sammy fell upon the food ravenously while Castiel stroked his back.

 

Wondering if maybe there was some wet food in the fridge for Sammy, Castiel turned towards the refrigerator, only to stop cold.

 

**U CAN SAVE HIM**

 

It was just a single sentence, made up of those colorful, block lettering magnets that millions of people kept on their refrigerator doors, but it nearly stopped Castiel's heart.

 

Coincidence. It had to be. It was probably a prank between Dean and his friends, a fucking joke. What else could it be?

 

A quiet voice whispered in the back of his mind that in his line of work there was no such thing as coincidence.

 

Heart beating double time now, Castiel stepped closer, examining the words. Not knowing what to think and determined not to be sidetracked, he switched his attention to the rest of the door, which turned out to hold another possible clue.

 

There was a torn square of newspaper held up by two Batman magnets with an ad circled in red marker which read:

 

“FOR SALE – '98 FORD BRONCO – TWO TONE, LOW MILES, EXCELLENT CONDITION

$5,600 OBO – 504-555-0179”

 

That must have been the car of the ex-fiancée's, Lisa, that Mary had mentioned. Castiel jotted down the info, wondering if Dean had actually sold the car or if perhaps something else had happened to it.

 

Besides the advertisement, there were a myriad of pictures of Dean and his family and friends, children's drawings and funny cartoons. Castiel ignored the pang of longing that shot through him and turned away to inspect the rest of the room.

 

His attention was drawn to the kitchen sink, where novelty shot glasses were lined up, backlit by late morning sunshine, along with a few small potted plants. But what was more interesting, was the bloody dishrags discarded in the sink and the splotch of tacky, mostly dried blood on the lip of the sink, as though someone had rested their bloody hand against it for support. Next to it, on the counter was a glass of water, half-empty and covered in bloody fingerprints. 

 

Had Dean injured himself or was this the blood of another, unknown person? There wasn't really any sign of a struggle necessarily, but all the blood was worrying and had Castiel on the lookout for something...anything, that would help him put all this together in a way that made sense.

 

Looking down, Castiel saw more dried blood on the hardwood floor. Footprints, possibly.

 

Castiel followed the intermittent smudges of crimson farther into the house, opening a set of french doors that led into the living-room which was populated with a large chocolate brown sectional and two leather recliners and a long, rectangular pine coffee table grouped in front of a good-sized plasma TV.

 

The walls were painted a woodsy sage green and adorned with what must've been some of Dean's favorite movie posters and Led Zeppelin posters; there was a guitar leaning against an old writing desk.

 

Again, Castiel couldn't help himself from envisioning cozy evenings spent curled up with Dean, cooking dinners and watching movies, maybe listening to Dean sing and play the guitar. He felt a sudden, visceral urge to know what Dean's voice had sounded like.

 

He shook his head at the impossibility of his fantasies, what was he thinking? He was standing in the house of a dead man.

 

Noticing an answering machine on the writing desk with the 'new message' light blinking and beeping repeatedly, he bee-lined over to it, smiling a little when he took in a huge picture frame with vintage posters of all three of the original Star Wars films encased inside; Castiel had never seen any of them, though Gabriel and Balthazar had raved about them and had an ongoing debate about which was better, Star Wars or Star Trek. Having watching neither, Castiel was useless when it came to casting the tie-breaking vote, having no opinion with which to weigh in on the subject. He was sure, though, that Dean would have had a strong opinion.

 

Turning his attention back to the answering machine, he made note of more pictures of Dean with his friends and family, a set of keys and a wristwatch. There were notebooks, pens, pencils and a few guitar picks scattered around and a day planner for the current year.

 

Using the tip of his pen, Castiel pressed the play button on the machine.

 

“Monday, 7:48pm. – Hi, Dean, it's Mom, my flight gets in at 7:55am tomorrow morning, so don't stay up too late on your date sweetheart. Love you, Bye-bye.”

 

Castiel made note of the call, then skipped ahead to the next message.

 

“Tuesday, 8:44am. – “Dean? Hi, it's Benny, are ya there? Sorry to call ya so early brother, but you said you'd give me a call when ya got home and when ya didn't, I started to get a mite worried--”

 

At this point in the message, Benny got interrupted and Castiel abruptly got his wish as he heard Dean's voice for the first time.

 

“Benny? Is this a joke!?” Dean's voice was deep and rough, sending a shiver down Castiel's spine with its sensuality, even though it was clear that Dean was upset.

 

“Oh, hey, hey brother! No, like I said, I was just worried about you, that's all--” Benny's smooth southern drawl was cut off yet again as Dean intoned huskily, “I can't talk right now. Someone's here. I'll call you later.”

 

Dean hung up without a goodbye, and Castiel rewound the message, telling himself that it was because he needed to notate the day and time the call came in, but really, he just wanted to hear Dean's voice again.

 

Once he'd listened to it again, he refrained from repeating it another time and skipped to the next message, which turned out to be a dial tone, the caller having not left a message. Castiel hit fast-forward, and Mary's familiar voice came on, “Tuesday, 10:04am. – Dean, it's Mom...I did say 7:55am, right? My flight was an hour and a half late but I'm here at the airport waiting for you. If you're not coming, I hope you're sending Benny or something. Call me soon, otherwise I'm gonna catch a cab.”

 

Poking at the fast-forward button once more, Castiel got the shock of his life when his own voice suddenly filled the room.

 

“Tuesday, 4:18pm. – Hello, this is ATF Agent Castiel Novak returning your call, my cell number is 504-555-0918.”

 

Castiel's mind reeled as he pressed rewind and listened once more, bewildered as he heard himself rattle off his name and number. This meant that the “sexy voice,” who had called and asked if Castiel was tall, dark and handsome, had been Dean. Why the hell was Dean calling the ATF offices asking for Castiel? They didn't know each other and now only hours after that phone call, the man turned up dead. Nothing was adding up here.

 

Sammy eventually came strolling out of the kitchen, having eaten his fill and rubbed up against Castiel's legs, begging to be petted. Castiel absently leaned down to pick him up, draping the cat over his shoulder like a 20 pound feather boa, stroking his fingers through the cat's soft fur, Sammy's rumbling purring echoing loudly in his ear as the cat contentedly licked his paws clean.

 

There were no other messages on the machine and so Castiel wandered away in a daze, drifting into the bathroom where he found a wire trash can filled with blood-soaked gauze and bandages and a first aid kit sitting open on the sink, the contents rifled through.

 

He walked back into the living-room, setting Sammy down on one of the recliners and it was then that something silver caught his eye and moving closer, he discovered to his surprise a custom engraved nickel-plated M1911A1 abandoned on the couch. It was a thing of beauty, with an engraved slide, decorated with lovely scroll-work surrounding “Colt MKIV Series 80,” and pearl grips.

It seemed a fitting gun for Dean to possess and he wondered how Dean had come to own it. It was heavy and cool in Castiel's gloved hands as he set it back down gently on the coffee table.

 

At the back of the house there was a side door that led out to a small, covered carport and there, was what Castiel assumed was Dean's pride and joy, his “Baby,” which just so happened to be a gorgeous, sleek black and chrome 1967 Chevy Impala. Castiel didn't know much about cars, had never really cared to, but even he could appreciate such a work of artistry and grace. It was easy to see how well-loved the vehicle was, looking freshly waxed and in mint condition.

 

There was no doubt in his mind that it was all Dean's doing and again, he marveled at how felicitous it was that this should be Dean's car; Castiel found himself with a deep, grasping _want_ , the want to have and share in Dean's life, yet simultaneously, he was also struck with the incontrovertible truth that now that he'd finally found someone that he wanted, it was far too late.

 

There wasn't much left to see; Dean's bedroom was much like the rest of his house, warm and inviting and again Castiel felt a wave of longing and grief, this time threaded through with covetous envy over all the things he didn't and couldn't have.

 

Pushing that unhelpful line of thinking to the back burner, he made a note to have Crime Scene techs come in later today and go over the place with a fine tooth comb.

 

Gazing around once more regretfully, with a few last pats to Sammy and pausing in the kitchen at the refrigerator to stare hard at those words...U CAN SAVE HIM, Castiel locked the door behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the plot thickens! Please let me know what you think, comments and kudos are my bread and water :-D oh, and yes, I did indeed put Sam in this story twice, once as his Terrible Life AU version and also as Sammy Winchester, the cat! I almost went with making him a dog, but I adore the idea of Dean having a cat, even though its not in canon, and only Sam's bitchface can measure up to that of a cat, plus I wanted Dean to have Sam around in some capacity, so yeah, Sam is totally a cat. Not sorry ;-P


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry I haven't posted in awhile, real life has been nuts as per usual, and I've been busy working on my DCJ Bang, not to mention trying to eke out another chapter from my grumpy muse for my baby, ITLOSAR, which I promise to update soon, seriously!!! Plus the half a dozen other side project fics I've been working on when I'm roadblocked on my other fics. Too many pots on the stove probably, but thank you all for the kudos and kind comments. Please enjoy this latest installment and come tell me whatcha think in the comments section, I welcome *constructive* criticism, incoherent screaming and keyboard smashing, among other things :-D And Happy Sunday y'all!

 

Castiel walked a couple blocks before catching the streetcar once more, hopping off three blocks away from the ATF headquarters, using the short walk to clear his head a little before he headed back to the bomb site.

 

He checked in with Balthazar, only to find that there'd been no word from Gabriel, which was really beginning to worry him. Gabe could be childish at times, but it wasn't like him to completely ignore something this important just so he could sulk.

 

There had also, as of yet, been no identification of the man they'd seen on the surveillance tape of the bridge right before the blast, the suspect was still unknown and in the wind, though their techs were working hard to rectify that situation.

 

Castiel filled out some paperwork from the ferry bombing for an hour, checked and researched a few things that he had a hunch about and as soon as Donna emailed him the autopsy report and he had printed out the pertinent information, he got ready to go.

 

After informing Balthazar that he was headed back to the bomb site, Castiel bought a bag of chips and a soda from a vending machine on the way to his car. Climbing in, he sat for a few minutes, sipping his drink and deliberating, before the curiosity became too much for him and he pulled out the packet of pictures Mary had insisted he take.

 

Taking a deep breath he peeled open the flap and reverently withdrew the thin stack of photographs.

 

The first picture was of Dean grinning that mega-watt, brilliant smile and it was just as dazzling as Castiel predicted it would be, it felt like a punch in the chest, to see that smile and know that it was gone forever, remembered only by Dean's friends and family and in these photos.

 

Dean was standing arm-in-arm with a group of men and women, all decked out in the tools and gear of construction workers, posed in front of what looked like a newly restored home, and Castiel realized this was a relatively recent event, that Dean must've participated in the rebuilding of New Orleans after the destruction of Hurricane Katrina, a rehabilitation which was still very much in progress.

 

He gazed for a moment longer, memorizing that smile, before shuffling the picture to the bottom of the pile.

 

The next picture on top was of Dean and Mary, hugging and smiling cheek to cheek and all at once, he felt immeasurable sadness sweep over him, and suddenly this didn't seem like such a good idea after all right now. He just kept seeing Dean's lifeless, charred body on the slab in his mind's eye. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he tucked the pictures gently back into the envelope and slipped them back into his pocket next to his heart.

 

Later, perhaps, when it was quiet and dark and he had a glass of whiskey to help smooth out the jagged edges, he would try again. It was important to Mary, this was her son and he mattered, so Castiel would do his best to honor that.

 

Determined to make himself useful and help solve the case, he drove down to Canal Street, parked and made his way over to the FBI trailer that he knew Singer had claimed as his temporary office. He knocked politely and after a few moments Wesson opened the door with a smile and beckoned him inside.

 

Castiel returned the smile and stepped in, catching the tail end of what sounded like an in-depth analysis that a skinny young man (sporting what Castiel couldn't believe was a mullet!) was giving to Singer and several other agents who were all seated in front of a large monitor. Wesson retook his seat but Castiel hung back, paying close attention as the young man gave his report.

 

“...the blast wave initiated here, hit the bulkhead and propagated fore and aft along the path of least resistance until it hit this access hatch, here,” Mullet-guy pointed at the screen, which showed a computer generated model of the ferry and the blast that had destroyed it.

 

“And that's where it got really bad, the blast wave continued into the engine room, bursting the fuel tanks. The utility shaft, here, acted like a chimney and drew the thermal components into the engine room, which ignited the fuel vapor and caused a secondary explosion of far greater magnitude,” Mullet-guy finished, pointing again at various locations on the screen. For a guy that looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, he sure seemed to know his stuff, and Castiel was quietly impressed.

 

“So, essentially, the initial device turned the whole ferry into a bomb and detonated it,” Singer concluded gravely, frowning into his beard.

 

Mullet-guy nodded sagely. “Our early guess was that the bomb vehicle was a mini-van or an SUV, possibly red or tan.”

 

“Do we have a lock on make and model yet for the vehicle?” Singer questioned at large.

 

Heads shook all around, with murmurs of, “Not yet, could take weeks or months.”

 

“Alright, well let's not just stand around holding our asses! Check all the SUV's and mini-vans that are registered in the state, flag anything recently rented or purchased, anything that ties to a theft or a missing person's report.”

 

Castiel felt this was his cue to step up and make himself known. Moving forward, he smiled at Singer and held up the file of information he had collected.

 

Singer tipped his chin at Castiel in greeting and grumbled, “Whatcha got there for me, boy?”

 

Opening the file, Castiel spread out the papers he had printed off for Singer's perusal. “Earlier today, I witnessed a preliminary exam of a young man that washed up just off Algier's Point, over by the Poland Wharf. Heavy fuel burns, traces of PETN on his face, the same PETN that's used as a base explosive by domestic terrorists. He also lost several fingers in what _appeared_ to be blast damage.”

 

Singer eyed Castiel's verbal finger quotes with a raised eyebrow and a little grin hidden in the corner of his beard. “ _Appeared_?”

 

“That's right. I checked the tide tables against the position of the blast. For him to have washed up that early and that far upriver, he would've had to have been killed at least two hours before the ferry exploded.”

 

“Before?” Mullet-guy asked skeptically as he chugged a can of Red Bull while studying the autopsy diagram and corresponding report. “You're saying this kid died before the explosion?”

 

Castiel nodded, “Yes. His name is Dean Winchester, he died before the explosion and then washed up against the tide, before the bomb went off.”

 

“Do you have a scenario?” Mullet-guy was interested now, indeed, all eyes were on Castiel at this point.

 

“Yes, I do. I believe that somebody, ambushed him while at home, abducted him, duct-taped his mouth, bound his wrists and ankles, burned him alive and dumped him in the river so he would appear to be just another disaster victim.”

 

“A victim of a disaster that hadn't happened yet.” Mullet-guy and Singer looked intrigued.

 

Castiel went on, “The PETN tells us that the bomber came into direct contact with the victim. You solve Dean's case and you solve the bombing case as well,” Castiel concluded firmly.

 

“Why this guy?” Wesson finally spoke up.

 

“Good question,” Castiel acknowledged. “His SUV is missing. It's a tan and red Bronco. I'm guessing it was stolen by the perpetrator to drive the bomb to the ferry.” All the agents present, including Wesson, Singer and Mullet-guy, shared significant looks at this development and Castiel knew he'd just given them an important piece of the puzzle.

 

“Oh, one more thing, the victim called the local ATF office the morning of the explosion.” More glances were exchanged and eyebrows raised at this comment. Castiel wasn't quite sure why he hadn't revealed that Dean had called to speak with him directly, but chalked it up to self-preservation; if it came out that he had some personal tie to this case, to Dean, he might be reassigned or taken off the case completely and that was the absolute last thing he wanted right now.

 

“Alright, we'll look into all this,” Singer declared, nodding respectfully at Castiel, who returned it with a smile.

 

“If you stick around here for a minute, I could use your help, boy,” Singer offered.

 

“Sure, happy to help sir,” Castiel replied, heading over to the counter where there were several carafes of coffee lined up with cream and sugar nearby. As he did so, his gaze flicked over to the window, which faced the parking area for the ferry and he did a double take. Was that Gabriel's car? It had to be. He didn't know anyone else who drove a violently orange Mustang convertible. Craning his neck, he caught sight of the license plate, confirming his hunch. CANDYMN. He was certain no one else had that vanity plate, at least not in this state.

 

“Hey, where's Gabriel?” Castiel asked, straightening up with a relieved smile on his face. Finally Gabe had shown up, about damn time! He'd really been starting to worry that something was wrong.

 

Wesson looked up at him from the paperwork he was poring over. “What?”

 

“You know, Gabriel Milton, my partner. That's his car right there, where is he?” Castiel gestured out the window at the parking lot.

 

Wesson glanced over at Singer nervously, hazel puppy eyes wide and concerned, “I thought you said he was on vacation?”

 

“Yeah, that's right, but I thought everyone was getting called in on this?” Castiel was starting to get a bad feeling in his gut.

 

The looks that were exchanged around him now were full of sympathy and pity and the bad feeling took a nosedive into nausea as he felt his stomach drop with fear. He almost didn't need the confirmation that came from Singer a moment later.

 

“I'm sorry boy, but those are the cars of the victims of the ferry bombing,” Singer told him, remorse in his tone as he came closer and squeezed Castiel's shoulder in understanding.

 

Castiel nodded his head dumbly, caught up in shock as Singer guided him to sit down in a nearby chair. It didn't make any sense. What had Gabriel even been doing at the ferry? He had indeed been slated to go on vacation to Florida to visit his girlfriend, Kali, but he had planned to catch a plane, so what circumstances had changed, gone so horribly wrong that he ended up being a victim of the ferry blast instead? The questions just seemed to pile up and Castiel was at a loss for the answers.

 

Wesson brought him a glass of water and awkwardly patted his shoulder and Singer told him to go home for the day, they'd survive without him for a few hours. Castiel appreciated the kindness and drank the water before he walked back to his car, but his mind was buzzing, questions flying around, every which way, disbelief still sitting heavy in his stomach. He started the car, but realized that home was the last place he wanted to be right now, faced with bare walls and his own depressed, chaotic thoughts, he'd rather bury himself in his work, so instead he drove back to the ATF office. After all, this case wasn't gonna solve itself and he preferred to break the bad news to Balthazar in person.

 

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

 

After Castiel had left in a daze, Singer beckoned Wesson and Lindberg (a.k.a. Mullet-guy) over to his makeshift desk.

 

“You think he's gonna be okay?” Wesson glanced over his shoulder in the direction Castiel had left.

 

“Well, according to his file, he's an ex-Marine, honorably discharged, so I'm sure he's dealt with things like this before. He seems pretty tough, I think he'll be alright given a little time,” Singer responded.

 

“Yeah, but time is exactly what we haven't got, the clock is running and we need to make our move now if we're gonna recruit him,” Lindberg reminded them.

 

“Alright, don't get your panties in a bunch. What do we think? Could he be an asset on this?” Singer grumbled.

 

Wesson skimmed over the papers in the file they'd procured on Castiel, “I think he looks good, born in Illinois, lived here in New Orleans since he was twenty, so he's got local knowledge of this area. Parents are dead, he has a couple siblings, but no family nearby, doesn't seem like he has much other than his job.”

 

“And you like him?”

 

“Yeah, Bobby. Yeah, he's smart, has a good eye for detail,” Wesson conceded.

 

“Yeah, I like him too. Well, let's finish up here and go pick him up,” Singer concluded.

 

“The sooner, the better, chief! Let's get this show on the road!” Lindberg agreed.

 

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

 

Balthazar took the news about as well as Castiel had, sitting down heavily on his chair, rubbing his hands tiredly over his pale, unshaven face.

 

“How...what happened? Do we suspect foul play?” He questioned, gazing up at Castiel blearily.

 

“I don't...we don't know yet, but you can be damn sure I'm gonna find out,” Castiel assured him. As if this case hadn't already become personal to him enough with Dean, Gabriel's unexplained death only compounded it.

 

“You go home, get some rest, we can start fresh tomorrow,” Castiel instructed him, placing a hand on Balthazar's shoulder comfortingly.

 

“Think I might take you up on that Cassie,” Balthazar smiled thinly, gazing up at Castiel with weary eyes. “Are we sure about this though? I mean, have they recovered his body? He could have just parked the car in the lot and maybe called a taxi or something?” Balthazar's voice was small and pleading.

 

Castiel knew denial when he heard it and though he wanted to believe in Balthazar's scenario, his instincts knew better, but he refrained from mentioning that even if that was the case, then why hadn't they been able to reach Gabriel on his cell, or at Kali's house? As flighty as Gabe was, he would have called to check in by now, especially if he had seen the news, which had been playing constant footage of the bombing and keeping the public apprised of the ensuing investigation.

 

But instead of saying things he was sure Balthazar already knew, he just smiled as best as he could and squeezed his shoulder, agreeing, “That is possible, we don't know anything for sure yet. Now go home and get some rest, that's an order.”

 

“Yes, mother,” Balthazar snarked. “And are you going to take your own advice?”

 

“Eventually. I wanna finish up here, then I'll head out.”

 

Balthazar snorted. “Uh huh, sure. Five bucks says I come in tomorrow morning and find you asleep on your desk, Cassie.”

 

Castiel didn't refute this, since it had been known to happen before and merely smiled wanly, “If that's the case, then I guess you'll be five dollars richer, won't you Bal? But I'm just as beat as you are, so I do intend to leave here soon, don't worry.”

 

“Good. See you tomorrow,” Balthazar patted his shoulder.

 

After Balthazar gathered up his things and left, Castiel tried to go about his business and focus on his paperwork, but found himself unable to do so. His mind kept cycling back over the last few days, looping from the carnage of the blast site, to Dean's burned body, to Mary crying on his shoulder and begging him to let her son matter to him, to Dean's cozy little home and that four word sentence that was tattooed on his brain by now...U CAN SAVE HIM...

 

And Gabriel...Gabriel with his smart mouth, fiery temper and quick wit. His frankly, unhealthy love of candy and flashy cars and beautiful women. Castiel had considered Gabe his polar opposite but they, along with Balthazar had made a good team.

 

After Castiel had been discharged from the Marines, he'd drifted for awhile, but when his former commanding officer mentioned that a contact of his had told him that the local ATF office was always looking for new recruits, it had just seemed to click.

 

He'd been vetted and started training a week later. He'd met Balthazar and Gabriel on the first day; the two already knew each other from college and were a pair of trouble-making peas in a pod who graciously welcomed Castiel into their fold, promising to get him to loosen up and have some fun.

 

A promise they'd made good on multiple times over the years. And now...now the guilt rose up in Castiel again as he remembered that his last conversation with Gabe had actually been an argument and they'd parted ways pissed off with each other.

 

Sighing in frustration, Castiel stood up, deciding he'd take the paperwork home, perhaps it would be easier to finish with a glass of whiskey and Meg purring in his lap. As he packed everything into his satchel, he was interrupted by a knock on the open door of the office he shared with Balthazar and glancing up, he saw to his surprise, Wesson loitering in the doorway, smiling a bit nervously.

 

“Hello, Agent Wesson, what can I do for you?” Castiel asked politely, not really in the mood for chit chat, hoping whatever the young agent wanted, it would be quick. All he really wanted to do right now was get home to his cat and some whiskey and indulge in a few hours of unconsciousness.

 

“Hey. Uh, you can call me Sam, since we're gonna be working together, I hope,” he offered. Castiel raised an eyebrow at this.

 

“Alright, Sam. Working together on what, exactly?” Castiel got the impression that Sam meant more than just the bombing investigation.

 

“Well, Agent Novak--” Castiel interrupted him here.

 

“Castiel,” he supplied with a little smirk, “Since we're gonna be working together.”

 

“Castiel. Can I call you Cas?” Sam smirked back, his anxiety seeming to dissipate.

 

“You can call me anything but Cassie. Having Balthazar and Gabe call me that all the time is bad enough...” Castiel trailed off, realizing that he'd never have to put up with Gabe's silly and increasingly inventive nicknames for him ever again.

 

Sam's big hazel puppy eyes came out in full force then. “You and Gabriel were close, huh?”

 

“Yeah...Close enough to get on each others nerves from time to time,” Castiel admitted.

 

Sam nodded in understanding then took a deep breath before launching into his pitch. “Cas, I've been put in charge of a newly-formed investigative unit. The ferry disaster is our first case and I want you on the team.”

 

“Why me?”

 

“We've got some unique time constraints. We need someone who can look at a crime scene exactly one time and tell us what's missing, what shouldn't be there, tell us what we can ignore and especially, what we need to pursue. Also, you're local, you know the people, know the area, which would definitely be helpful to us.”

 

Castiel chewed on his lip, thinking. “But why an ATF agent? Wouldn't you be better off keeping this in-house with the FBI?”

 

Sam shrugged. “Why not? Maybe it's your time to shine,” he said, smiling winningly at Castiel.

 

Castiel snorted and cocked his head, squinting at Sam a little, “Who's to say I didn't already have my time to shine and blew it?” He countered.

 

Sam grinned at him. “Nahh...I don't see that happening. Besides,” he said, suddenly serious, “You wanna find the guy that killed Gabriel, don't you?”

 

Castiel's face hardened, blue eyes full of pain. “You're damned right I do.” He would do this for Gabriel...and for Dean.

 

Sam nodded firmly, looking satisfied. “Alright. Let's go meet up with the rest of our team.”

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

Sam led Castiel out front to where a big, black, shiny Suburban waited and they climbed into the spacious vehicle.

 

“So, is this the part where you blindfold me?” Castiel asked, only half-joking.

 

Sam chuckled. “Not this time. Bobby, I mean, Singer, already authorized your clearance,” he replied, passing over a white keycard and a lanyard with Castiel's ID on it to him, which he looped over his head, settling it next to his ATF badge.

 

Castiel smirked. “That's pretty presumptuous. What if I had said no?”

 

Sam smiled back. “But you didn't.”

 

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Sam but decided to change the subject. “You must know Singer relatively well to get away with calling him Bobby.”

 

“Yeah, I mean, I guess so. He's been a family friend for years, more like an uncle, really, and when I joined up at Quantico, he took me under his wing and requested that I be put in his unit. I've learned a lot from him, he's a good man.”

Castiel nodded. He'd gotten that impression about Singer too, he was a damn fine agent.

 

The conversation sort of petered out from there, each man lost in his own thoughts, pondering what was to come next.

 

It was full dark out and the scenery outside sped past in blur through the smoked glass windows. They rushed through the night, eventually pulling up in front of the U.S. Coast Guard Base, one of several military bases in New Orleans. They paused at two different check points and waited patiently while armed guards verified their credentials and inspected the vehicle before finally waving them through.

 

Proceeding forward, they drove through high chain-link fences into a cavernous warehouse space, where even late in the evening, there were people milling about busily, work still in full-swing. Indistinct talking could be heard faintly from overhead, some kind of PA system, Castiel assumed. There were huge shipping containers stacked three deep off to one side and a giant, circular, hollow metal apparatus of some sort took up most of one wall, with half a dozen people crawling around inside it. A couple of tank-like Humvees caught Castiel's eye, mainly because of their size and the strange equipment strapped to them.

 

Sam noticed his pursed mouth and squinty stare combo and smirked somewhat conspiratorially, “I guess you've got some questions, huh?”

 

Castiel quirked an eyebrow, shrugged and continued his observations. “For me to have questions, first I'd need to know something,” he replied, intentionally matching Sam's cryptic manner.

 

They came to a stop in front of an enormous metal construct that looked like some sort of lab and Sam quickly hopped out of the Suburban, flashed him a nervous grin and beckoned him along. “Pretty cool, right?”

 

Castiel smiled tightly and nodded but decided to reserve judgment for what was actually inside and followed suit, catching on to Sam's urgency. This place just about screamed “Top Secret Government Experiments, Secrecy and Conspiracies R US!,” and while it made him mildly uncomfortable and a little antsy, he couldn't help but be intrigued, wondering how all of this tied in with the ferry disaster and Gabriel and Dean's murders. He ruefully hoped that his curiosity wouldn't get him killed.

 

They trotted up a short flight of metal stairs before reaching a heavily reinforced door that blared the standard military warnings that these places typically had, “RESTRICTED ACCESS, LEVEL 9 CLEARANCE ONLY!” The 'trespassers will be shot, etc., blah blah blah' was obviously implied. Castiel eyed the door as though it was radioactive; this was all reminding him a bit too much of his days as a Marine and he wasn't sure how he felt about that, but forged on ahead anyways.

 

Sam swiped his keycard and gestured for Castiel to do the same and with a whoosh and a hiss, they were inside, greeted by a symphony of computerized beeps, squinks and chirps.

 

Castiel recognized Singer and Mullet-guy off in the corner, heatedly conferring, having yet to notice Sam and him, but there was also a perky looking redhead seated at a long table surrounded by monitors, who had a pair of noise canceling headphones clamped over her ears with a mouthpiece attached while she furiously typed away at her keyboard, muttering under her breath all the while. At the workspace next to her was a young Asian man who was fiddling with a complicated looking console that boasted enough joysticks, toggles and buttons to pilot the most sophisticated of spaceships.

 

The main front wall that the long table faced was entirely covered with multiple, massive plasma screens and monitors, all of which were displaying dizzying amounts of information. The largest, central screen showed an extensive, live-stream satellite feed map of the New Orleans area, power grids blinking merrily.

 

“Now I do have some questions,” Castiel admitted.

 

Before Sam could answer though, Mullet-guy happened to glance in their direction, then nudged Singer, who gave Castiel and Sam a two-finger salute before disappearing out a back entrance, before he loped over. “Don't touch anything, we don't need you yet,” Mullet-guy instructed in a bored tone.

 

Castiel ignored the spike of annoyance he felt at being chastised like a sticky-fingered five-year old in a china shop, even as Sam shot him an apologetic, commiserating look before introducing him. “Castiel Novak, ATF, this is Dr. Ash Lindberg, I don't think you guys properly met earlier. We only put up with him because he's a genius,” Sam snarked.

 

Ash grinned lazily. “That's Doctor Badass to you, young man. Don't worry, I know all about Agent Novak here. Anyways, welcome to the team. Bobby got called away, but he'll be back later, so let's get to work! Kevin, where's my audio?”

 

The young Asian man Castiel had noticed earlier picked up a pair of noise canceling headphones like the ones the redhead was wearing, settling them snugly on his head before replying, “Uhhh...compensating for audio delay, just a second.” Punching buttons and flicking switches, he then curled his fingers around the two largest joysticks, manipulating them rapidly.

 

A shrill electronic ringing noise pierced the air and everyone winced.

 

“Sorry, sorry everyone! Compensating for a technical blunder by a tech guy!” Kevin chuckled nervously.

 

“Charlie! What's our window?” Ash barked, lobbing a crumpled up piece of paper at the redhead who swatted it right back at him in mid-air without barely glancing up from her screens and keyboard.

 

“Solid stream, minus four days, six hours, three minutes and forty-five seconds,” Charlie sang out.

 

“And fourteen and a half nanoseconds!” Kevin chimed in.

 

Sam elbowed Castiel lightly, tipping his head at one of the chairs tucked against the long, rectangular table, indicating that he should take a seat. Castiel noticed as they were all situating themselves at the table that the central screen was gradually zooming in until he could clearly see live-stream focus of Algier's Point, the ferry itself visible and still docked. Smaller screens within the central screen kept switching to different vantage points of the same larger picture every so often.

 

“Okay, anytime you wanna jump in here, be my guest,” Ash drawled. After a few moments of silence, Sam nudged him again and Castiel suddenly realized that the man had been talking to him.

 

“Who, me?” Castiel asked in surprise, still staring mesmerized at the main screen, trying to figure out exactly what he was looking at.

 

“Yeah, you, dude,” Ash confirmed, twirling a pen between his fingers while gazing intently at the central screen, glancing at Castiel out of the corner of his eye. “Dazzle us.”

 

“What exactly are we looking for?” Castiel inquired, still confused as to what was expected of him here.

 

“You know, clues, suspects. Anything out of the norm,” Ash elaborated. Indiscernible chattering of hundreds of people filled the room, along with the sounds of street traffic, seabirds and other unidentifiable background noise.

 

Castiel nodded slowly, trying to rally. “Okay. When was this footage taken?”

 

“Four and a half days ago,” Ash answered. “Hey, Kevin, try the guy with the backpack.”

 

Kevin rotated the joysticks and dutifully zoomed in on a man standing at the back of the ferry, leaning against the railing and wearing a bulky knapsack, the view went from the backside of the man to an aerial 180 view, showing his face down to the smallest detail. The guy was alone, but presently, a woman ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly.

 

“Awww, that's tender, I wish I had someone,” Ash cooed sarcastically as the couple canoodled, eliciting a giggle from Charlie and a loud snort from Kevin, while Sam smirked. Castiel barely registered the comment, still trying to parse the visual overload.

 

“Alright Kev, move on, probably not our guy, widen out here, let's cruise the car deck and see what we got there,” Ash redirected, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head.

 

Kevin obliged, swiveling the joysticks once more. The view seemed to pull back, before zooming swiftly around, the feed blurring even as ' _Lens Adjusting_ ,' flashed on the central screen, finally resolving into a view of the car deck on the ferry. The feed drifted along slowly, giving them an eagle's eye view of the cars and the people on the upper deck as well.

 

Castiel finally came up with a cohesive question he felt confident in voicing. “How are you able to keep changing the angle on footage taken four and a half days ago?”

 

Sam cleared his throat and spoke up, “This is a digital recreation, we're combining all the data we've got into one fluid shot. We can look at any angle, any view, but only within the target area.”

 

“Alright, let's cruise the breezeway now, see what we got there,” Ash said, digging out a Red Bull from a small cooler on the floor next to him. He jerked his chin at Castiel, “You want one?”

 

Castiel shook his head, “No, thank you.”

 

Sam ignored the interruption and seemed to warm to his topic, leaning in closer to Castiel. “So get this, it's a brand new program, we call it Snow White. Our primary data comes from seven orbiting satellites, but at any given time, as many as four satellites are surveying one area. It's like having multiple eyewitnesses, each with their own vantage point.”

 

“Snow White, huh?” Castiel finally cracked a smile, glad someone was explaining this situation to him a little.

 

“Heh, yeah, get it?” Sam asked with a lopsided smile.

 

“Yes, Sam.” Castiel rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a small grin of his own.

 

“Just because it took you a minute to figure it out, doesn't mean Cas here will need the same accommodation,” Charlie teased, leaning over Ash and Sam to stretch her hand out to Castiel.

 

“Hey!” Sam exclaimed, mock wounded. “You said you wouldn't tell anyone about that!”

 

“I'm Charlie, by the way, or the Queen, to you, and I'm the real brains behind this operation!” Charlie declared with a bright smile, ignoring Sam's whining. Castiel saw now that she wore a purple t-shirt with white lettering that read “Queen of Moons.”

 

Castiel leaned over and solemnly shook her proffered hand, then pecked a quick kiss to the back of it. “A pleasure to meet you, my Queen,” he murmured with a sly wink.

 

Charlie blushed prettily before gently socking him in the shoulder. “I think we just became best friends!” She proclaimed excitedly. “You know, you bozos could take a page out of his book and show your Queen a little respect every now and then!” Charlie playfully chastised the others.

 

“Uh huh, whatever, _my Queen_ , now could you move over? You make a better door than a window right now,” Ash complained, tickling Charlie's side with his fingers. The redhead let out a little squeak before retreating back into her seat with a huff.

 

Castiel heard her quietly whisper to Kevin, “I like him, he's dreamy.” More giggling and snorting ensued.

 

Rolling his eyes once more and fighting down a small blush of his own, Castiel leaned back into his seat and attempted to get them back on track. “Alright, so which one of the seven dwarfs here can tell me how you get the audio?” He questioned, trying to refocus on the central screen, which proved a difficult task due to the constantly changing angles.

 

Ash side-eyed Sam uneasily, something unspoken passing between them and Castiel figured for whatever reason, he wasn't going to get an answer just yet, so he changed tact. “Okay, I don't understand, why are we looking at four days ago? Why don't we just fast forward it to the day of the explosion? ”

 

Sam shook his head in the negative. “We just have to wait. It takes four and half days to render this single, fluid shot. The only thing that matters is that we have exactly one look, at any one time,” Sam explained.

 

“Yeah, we can't go back 10 minutes ago, you know?” Ash interrupted.

 

“Can't look back and see if there was a second gunman,” Kevin piped up from the other side of Charlie, who grinned wickedly and tossed in, “We can't watch Doctor Badass here buying five plaid flannel shirts in 1993 and ripping all the sleeves off them and deciding to become an everlasting shrine to mullet rock to this very day.”

 

Everyone chuckled at that, even Doctor Badass himself, who waved away Charlie's criticism indulgently, stating, “Mullet rock never dies, woman!”

 

“Alright, but given enough lead time, we can look anywhere within the target area, okay?” Sam continued on where he'd left off. “It's the _when_ that's always constant. It's always four days and six hours ago. _Always_. You understand? It's like a single, trailing moment of _now_ , but in the past.”

 

Castiel squinted hard at him, still feeling like he was missing some vital piece of information, but nodded his head agreeably. “Okay. So if you can't move forward or backward in time, how is it that the images keep speeding up like that?” He probed, even as various screens switched angles again, zooming around too fast for his eyes to follow.

 

“It's not the images that are moving faster, it's just our shifting point of view,” Kevin broke in, leaning forward to look at Castiel, still pivoting the joysticks to enhance on a guy carrying a large briefcase walking down Canal Street, the screen flashing with the same ' _Lens Adjusting_ ,' as before. “The passage of time remains constant, but we can shift our point of view within the data stream as fast as we want, you understand?”

 

It was the second time Castiel had been asked that question in five minutes and he was starting to get irritated, because on one level, yes, he understood the concept in theory, but was finding it difficult to grasp in reality, specifically when he was sure essential facts were being hidden from him for whatever reason, government clearance, most likely.

 

But he pushed down his frustration and tried to work with what information he did have. “So four days from now...” he checked his watch, stunned to see it was a few minutes after twelve already, “well, actually three days from now, since it's after midnight, we'll be able to look back to the day of the explosion and see who did it, how they did it and what they did it with,” Castiel clarified.

 

“Yeah, you got it, compadre! The only thing is, you need to tell us where to look, cause, you know, we could miss it,” Ash said with tired chuckle.

 

“That's the understatement of the year!” Sam mumbled sarcastically. “We could have a hundred people looking and miss it with this much data.” Castiel privately agreed, but kept quiet, vowing to do his best, no matter what, even if it meant staying here in this room, watching these monitors like a hawk for the next three days.

 

“Besides,” Sam went on, “three days could be too late. This guy could leave the country, or strike again. We need to do whatever we can, _now_. We know he's out there, planning this, we just don't know where to look.”

 

Castiel gazed at the steadily moving screens, almost hypnotized by the flow of time passing before his very eyes, and his mind drifted to Dean's house, to the strange trail of evidence that had made no sense, to Dean's missing SUV that most likely had been blown to tiny bits and had his answer when Sam asked, “So Cas, where should we look?”

 

The others looked at him expectantly, waiting for his direction.

 

Confidently, Castiel replied, “Dean Winchester's house.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo...the plot thickens even more! Whadja think?? ;-)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Oh my god, another chapter, and so soon too! Yeah I can barely believe it either. It figures that the one story where I have no deadline and it's just kind of a fun little distraction for me when I get writer's block on my other work, is the one that my muse suddenly decides to pour all her creativity into, instead of the other fics I desperately need to work on!!! Oh well, my (sort of) loss and your gain! I am having a blast writing this, even though I feel guilty about the other stories I should be channeling my creative energies into. Writer's guilt, it's up there with Catholic and Jewish guilt, I bet! LOL ;-) Anyways, enjoy and Happy Tuesday!

Charlie snapped into action, typing in Dean's name and accessing his address. “Bingo! 827 Kings Oak. That's in the French Quarter, address is in range.”

 

“Alright, match the viewer settings to the signal,” Ash said to Kevin.

 

While Charlie connected with the corresponding satellites, Kevin spun the joysticks, tuning into the audio frequency and manipulating the view til they had left the ferry and Canal Street behind and were in the French Quarter instead, with beeping and the same electronic ringing noise from before, except not as loud, filling the air as the satellite honed in on their chosen destination.

 

“Signal is solid,” Kevin verified.

 

“Alright people, dazzle me!” Ash hollered, chugging down the last of his Red Bull.

 

The central screen in front of them flashed ' _Lens Adjusting_ ,' and ' _Audio Adjusting_ ,' as the viewer angle without warning swooped down and Castiel recognized Dean's front door before they seemed to pass right through the walls, into the house itself.

 

At first, it was like looking at a 3-D blueprint or a hologram, all the lines visible, nothing solid, but then the view began rendering into a fluid shot, filling in all the blanks and as they passed through the wall of the kitchen into the living room, a heat signature was immediately discernible, obviously that of a man. The live-stream froze for a moment, leaving the man shaded in tones of black with an inner core of orange and gold, before the view abruptly unfroze, resolving into crystal clear definition and suddenly Castiel was staring directly into the very much alive, green eyes of a shirtless Dean Winchester.

 

Castiel felt his jaw drop as he gasped out loud in disbelief. “What in the world?”

 

Sam and Ash both turned their heads to look at him with matching sly grins.

 

“Pretty cool, huh? You see, with Snow White we can track through walls,” Sam informed him proudly.

 

“It's part of the same infrared thermal-imaging stuff they're using in Iraq,” Ash chipped in.

 

Castiel could hardly process what they were saying, and frankly, couldn't give a shit about infrared thermal- whatever, all that mattered in this moment, was the fact that he was staring at Dean, whole, undamaged and _alive_. He barely registered it when he rose from his chair and moved to stand only a couple feet away from the central screen, still gazing in shock at Dean.

 

“We triangulate from four satellites, pick up the heat signals and reconstruct. Basically, we can walk through walls,” Sam went on.

 

The audio was coming in crisply now and they could hear a telephone ringing. They watched Dean stand next to the phone, allowing it to go to voicemail and the time stream focused in on his face while he waited to see if the caller would leave a message. It was as though his green gaze was boring into Castiel's soul and he found himself unable to look away, staring back just as intently.

 

“Dean Winchester,” he whispered to himself, still unable to totally believe his eyes.

 

“Did you know him?” Charlie's curious voice questioned from behind him.

 

“I held his hand once, but no, I didn't know him,” Castiel answered absently.

 

At length, a woman's voice crackled loudly in the room over the speakerphone, “Dean? Hello? Hey, um it's Lisa...just checking in, wondering how you're doing. Ben says to say 'hi,' he misses you a lot.” Castiel watched as Dean's eyes took on a sad cast as he bowed his head, rubbing the back of his neck as he let loose a deep sigh.

 

“...Montreal is great, even though my boss is a dick...um, maybe you could come visit sometime?”

 

Lisa trailed off and there was a brief silence then, “Dean? Dean are you there? Listen, I've had a lot of time to think and umm...” another pause, during which a hopeful spark lit Dean's face up for a split second, making Castiel's heart ache in sympathy, but then Lisa continued on and the hopeful spark guttered out.

 

“I was wondering if you had gotten the Bronco sold yet, because if you had, I was hoping maybe I could have all the money from the sale? I know we bought it together and we were going to split the cash, but I really need the money right now. Anyways, Ben sends his love, call me back soon!”

 

Dean tossed his head back in a rueful laugh, shaking his head, looking forlorn and resigned all at once, scrubbing his hand over his face, “Unbelievable,” he said aloud softly. He deleted the message and then rummaged through one of the drawers in the desk, coming up with a leather-bound checkbook and leaned down to write something.

 

“Can we enlarge on that?” Castiel asked.

 

Kevin twirled the joysticks to switch angles and then they were peering right over Dean's golden, freckled shoulder, observing as he made out a check to Lisa Braeden for three thousand dollars. Dean signed his name with a flourish and tore the check out, stuffing it into an envelope and sealing it, before hastily scribbling out an address and propping it on top of the desk against the lamp.

 

Still shaking his head, Dean strode out of the room and Castiel panicked at the thought of losing sight of him.

 

He whipped around calling out to Kevin, “Where's he—Can you follow him?”

 

Kevin smirked and spun the controls. “No problem.” Their point of view in the time stream blurred for a moment, tracking through the wall and into Dean's bedroom. His bed was a rumpled mess and Sammy dozed comfortably right in the middle of it as Dean, still wearing only a pair of faded jeans and no shirt, rifled through his closet, presumably searching for something to wear. Castiel relaxed as Dean filled the screen once more and just drank him in, unable to get enough.

 

Presently, Castiel's cellphone started to ring, breaking him out of his trance, and with his eyes still glued to Dean, he fumbled it out of his pocket and answered it distractedly. “What?”

 

“Hey there Cas, Jody Mills here, hope I didn't wake you, we're at the house of that male murder victim, Dean Winchester? Just wanted to check in with you and give you an update.”

 

“Oh, uh right, thanks Jody, okay, what do you got?”

 

“Well my crime scene techs are going over everything with a fine tooth comb just like you asked. I'm in the bathroom here and we got some bloody cotton swabs and gauze strips, enough for a DNA sample. Uhh, let's see, there's also blood in the sink trap, too. Oh, and Cas? I know you went by here earlier today, so I have to ask, when did you completely forget how to investigate a crime scene? This place is lousy with your fingerprints! They're all over the place.” Jody's tone was laced with amusement so Castiel knew she was just teasing him and not truly upset, but his face still creased in puzzlement. He'd worn gloves the entire time he was in Dean's house, so what the hell was she talking about?

 

Feeling eyes on him, he glanced around, noticing that Sam and Ash were clued in on the screens but kept darting inquisitive looks at him.

 

Castiel swung back around, facing the screen once more, watching as Dean puttered around his room for a few moments before heading into the bathroom. The gears were furiously grinding in his head, trying to figure out what the whiz kids back there were keeping from him, so he decided to test a theory.

 

“Hey Jody? Do me a favor. Just describe what you see for me, okay? Just humor me.” He heard Jody chuckle before he caught the hollow sound of her footsteps echoing on the wood flooring.

 

“Okay, uh we got a man's bedroom, unmade bed, chest of drawers with knick-knacks on top, closet, posters on the walls.”

 

Castiel nodded. “Okay, okay, I get it. Go into the bathroom, is anybody there? Anybody, uh, brushing their teeth?” He watched as Dean did just that with one hand, while idly scratching his bare stomach with the other, trying valiantly to not be distracted by Dean's exquisitely perky nipples.

 

Jody laughed. “Uhh no? Just a couple agents and a tech, Ronnie, who's bent over and I have a fine view of the crack of his ass. Hey, Ronnie! Say no to crack, young man, and pull up those pants!” Laughter and good-natured ribbing sounded in the background.

 

Castiel grinned despite himself at her commanding yet motherly tone. “Okay, I get the picture, thanks Jody. Call me if you get anything else, talk to you later.” He hung up and slid his cell back into his pocket.

 

Hmm. Well, all that had proved was that whatever he was seeing on the viewer screens, was indeed the past, which still left him with more questions than answers, a pattern he was tiring of quickly.

 

In his peripheral, he could see Sam and Ash's faces turned towards him and so he glanced over, only to find them scrutinizing him knowingly.

 

“You satisfied?” Ash drawled laconically, his eyebrow arched a tad imperiously. Sam wore a similar expression, but underneath their assumed attitudes, there was an undercurrent of worry. They were definitely hiding something and very anxious that Castiel might ferret out what it was.

 

And oh, did he intend to do that and so much more!

 

Ignoring them and deciding to play dumb for as long as he could, he cleared his throat and said, “Dean was supposed to go on a date the night before he died. I want to get his day planner, desk calendar, whatever he has, and bring it all down here. Phone records, credit card statements, anything that might help us. I wanna know everything there is to know about this man.”

 

Castiel felt his face heat a little at the way that had come out, he could hear the possessiveness threaded through his tone and knew he had to rein it in.

 

Sam narrowed his eyes at him, a tiny smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth. “Shouldn't we be concentrating on the ferry?”

 

Castiel heaved a sigh, a wave of tiredness washing over him as he moved back to retake his seat next to Sam. “Well, yeah, it's likely that our guy cased the ferry first, but we don't know when. We don't even know what he looks like. I mean, we could stare him right in the face and not know it's him. But we will notice a change, even a small change, in Dean's life.”

 

Sam nodded in acquiescence and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when the phone started ringing, this time in Dean's house. Kevin rotated the joysticks to propel them through the walls, into the living-room where they watched Dean pick up the call, pressing the speakerphone button so he could move around hands free while he talked.

 

“Hey, Benny,” Dean answered pleasantly, his whiskey-rough voice spreading a warmth all throughout Castiel's chest that he just wanted to wrap himself up in.

 

"Hey there, brother,” Benny's Cajun drawl spilled out of the phone and Castiel recognized it from the voicemail he had listened to earlier. This was the man that had called to check on Dean, worried that he hadn't heard back from him, the same call that Dean had cut short because someone had been there in the house with him and he couldn't talk.

 

“...that guy I've been telling you about, really wants to meet you.”

 

Dean let out a small sigh, “Okay. Tell him I'll meet him Monday night.”

 

“How about Sunday night, if you're not doing anything? We could all go to that little grill on--”

 

“No,” Dean cut in, “I've got plans Sunday. Tell him Monday.”

 

“Alright, brother, don't get your panties in a twist! I'll give him your number.”

 

Dean scowled and Castiel couldn't help but think how adorable he looked. “No, dude, do not give him my number. I'll go meet him.”

 

“Aw, Dean, c'mon, it's not like this guy is some psycho killer!” Benny's rich laughter rumbled over the line and Castiel growled in frustration, annoyed at the man for treating Dean's caution so cavalierly; blind dates could be dangerous, even for a man. There were some fucked up people out there.

 

“Who? Him who?” He muttered under his breath, jealousy edging his tone.

 

“Whatever, dude, you have set me up with some weirdos before, remember that dickbag, Crowley? Anyways, let me check and make sure I'm even free Monday,” Dean complained, paging through his day planner.

 

“Show me the book!” Castiel said urgently and Kevin manipulated the view til once more they were staring down over Dean's freckled shoulder, panning in to read the small print, but before they could get a lock on it, he slapped it shut and informed Benny, “Alright, Monday works. Talk to you later, Benny.” Dean hung up.

 

A chorus of 'Damn!' and 'Shit!' rose up from the group and Castiel glanced over at the other four. “Can we go back?” He inquired, pretty sure the answer was already going to be 'no'.

 

As expected, everyone shook their heads in the negative.

 

“No, it's far too much data for any existing storage system. It's a constant stream. There's no rewind, no second chances,” Sam told him.

 

“We can record what we're seeing, but we can't go back and choose to look at something different,” Charlie offered with a positive smile.

 

“Okay, that's good, we can record?” Castiel returned her smile and Charlie bobbed her head affirmatively.

 

The sound of shower curtain rings clattering loudly against each other drew Castiel's attention back to the screen, not that it had really strayed very far, and he realized Dean was stripping out of his jeans, preparing to take a shower.

 

Castiel watched with wide eyes as Dean kicked off his jeans and then in the blink of an eye had shimmied out of his boxers and quite suddenly Castiel was met with acres of tanned, freckled flesh, strong, gently bowed legs and rippling back muscles.

 

His gaze kept drifting around, unsure where to land and unable to look away from Dean's gorgeous backside, finally zeroing in on the two perfect little divots just above the swell of Dean's ass. Castiel wanted to lick them, among other things.

 

To his left, Castiel heard Charlie clearing her throat timidly, trying not to giggle. “Umm...is there any scientific or forensic insight likely to be gained by spying on this, admittedly smokin' hot dude, in the shower? I mean, I swing only for the ladies, but you'd have to be blind not to appreciate that ass, however, I do feel like this is definitely an unnecessary invasion of privacy.”

 

Kevin, Sam and Ash all snorted at this, Ash bumping shoulders with Charlie as he said, “Relax, my Queen, we're just trying to make sure the man is getting all nice and clean.”

 

Charlie rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in surrender.

 

Castiel was embarrassed to find himself so transfixed, watching avidly as Dean stepped into the shower, muscles flexing as he tipped his head back into the spray and combed his hands through his short hair. The sight of all that golden, freckled and now glistening, wet skin sent a shock of electricity straight to Castiel's cock, which twitched mightily in his slacks and he straightened up, faking a cough, deciding that they needed to move on immediately before his dick got any more ideas.

 

He tried to push down the thought that he also didn't want anyone else to see Dean like this, as he called out to Kevin in a voice that was only a tiny bit uneven, “Alright, why don't you, uh, look around the rest of the bathroom, can we do that?”

 

Wordlessly, Kevin pivoted the view around in a circle, showing all the usual bathroom trappings. They paused on the medicine cabinet above the sink, panning in closer. “Let's see, we got a first aid kit, Icy Hot, lotion, baby oil, etc. Geez, this guy needs a vice,” Kevin chuckled.

 

“What's on the other side of that wall?” Sam asked.

 

“Kitchen,” Charlie supplied.

 

“Let's take a look,” Castiel instructed.

 

Kevin obligingly piloted them through the bathroom wall, into the kitchen, the program chirping loudly as it did so.

 

Castiel abruptly heard the shriek of pipes as the shower suddenly cut off and without warning, Dean skidded into the kitchen, soaking wet with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, droplets streaming down his chest, hair plastered to his forehead, dripping down into his eyes as he looked around in alarm.

 

“Hello? Hey, is someone there?” His gaze darted around the kitchen, finding only Sammy crouched on top of the wooden island, contentedly munching on his crunchy food. Dean stroked a hand down his furry back and Sammy lifted his head with a questioning meow.

 

Dean scooped him up into his arms, rubbing his cheek against the cat's velvety one. “Hey buddy, you're my watch-cat, you gotta let me know if somebody is here, alright?” Dean cautioned, peering out through the curtains to the small courtyard outside; it seemed deserted, but the late afternoon sunshine was casting long shadows that someone could easily hide in.

 

Grudgingly satisfied that there appeared to be no one there, Dean set the cat back down on the island with a final pat and headed back to the bathroom, though still eyeing his surroundings askance.

 

Castiel and the others watched the whole scene in silence, unsure what to make of it.

 

Sam spoke up. “Maybe there's someone out there, like a stalker or something.”

 

Strangely, Castiel felt a sudden cold shiver spike through him. “Does he know I'm here? Does he know we're here?” He demanded. His voice caught in his throat and goosebumps broke out over his skin at the prospect of being visible to Dean.

 

Next to him, Sam's breath hitched, but he coughed a bit and answered, “No. No, impossible. Strictly one-way.”

 

Castiel turned and stared hard at him, “You sure?” Sam didn't answer verbally, only nodded somewhat unconvincingly, at least to Castiel's trained eye.

 

And Ash, who was leaned forward on his elbows over the table with his hands folded in front of his mouth murmured only, “Mmhmm.”

 

Nevertheless, Castiel noticed a twitch under his right eye and he didn't miss the brief side-eye that passed between Sam and Ash as well.

 

Kevin and Charlie for their part, casually averted their eyes from him, appearing engrossed in the live-stream.

 

Castiel gritted his teeth, beyond frustrated now, the need for answers ratcheting up, but let it pass once more, choosing to divert his attentions elsewhere instead. “Alright, uh, let's check the perimeter.”

 

Kevin jumped to obey, jerkily twirling the joysticks, pulling back, widening out their view til they were gazing down at Dean's little bungalow. The courtyard, back alley and other neighboring areas were all empty, it was mostly deserted this time of day, in this area, usually quiet and peaceful.

 

“Nobody's there,” Kevin reported.

 

“So who's watching him?” Sam wondered aloud.

 

“We are,” Castiel replied softly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, Cas is gettin' suspicious and pissed, all squinty-eyed and ready to get his smite on!  
> Let me know what you guys think in the comments, I love to hear from you, it totally makes my day, seriously! <3 <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang, sorry I haven't updated in so long, real life is doing its best to kill my fandom life by making me too busy and depressed to write, but I'm doing my best to hang in there and write when I can. To those of you who have asked, yes, I am still working on 'In the Land of Sun and Rain,' I have not, and will not, abandon it. Writer's block is a bitch and I've had other projects and real-life concerns eating up all my time. I'll be posting a new work also here, the fic I wrote for the DeanCasJimmy BigBang, if that's you're cuppa tea. It's not quite finished due to my laptop being a evil old bastard, but I should be able to rewrite the 37k I lost when it crashed the other night without too much of a hold up. But I am hoping to post a new chapter soon of ITLOSAR for all of you who have so patiently been waiting. Enjoy the new chapter of this fic for now and all my love, in the words of Dean, you're awesome! Happy (CAS-day) Thursday and also a very Happy June 1st to y'all! :-)

 

The next few hours passed slowly. Kevin, Sam, Charlie and Ash all wandered off at intervals, returning with snacks and energy drinks, but Castiel stayed glued to the screen, silently observing as Dean tidied his house up and made himself some dinner. He'd been right in guessing how much Dean loved to cook, as was obvious from his ease in the kitchen, not consulting a recipe as he effortlessly prepared a lasagna that made Castiel's mouth water and his stomach grumble hungrily.

 

He felt himself smiling as he listened to Dean sing along to the Led Zeppelin record he had put on, falling even more in love with the man's voice and was endeared at how Dean knew every word. Castiel was only mildly ashamed of how entranced he became watching Dean dance around to the music, doing air guitar and drum solos as they came along. Sammy sat on top of the wooden island, scenting the air, hoping for handouts and twitching his tail to the melodies.

 

It seemed impossible that someone such as Dean, so bright and vital, was now currently dead and Castiel had to remind himself constantly that this was the past, that technically he was watching what amounted to a ghost. It was ripping his heart out by the roots, but he couldn't bring himself to look away, was in fact, savoring every moment while simultaneously counting down to the end he knew was inevitably coming.

 

Oddly enough, when Castiel was able to catch a glimpse of the fridge door, the alphabet letters were all jumbled up, no longer spelling out U CAN SAVE HIM. It was a realization which made his insides feel cold and squirmy, even as he tried to reassure himself that whoever had arranged them that way, in what had to be a joke, of course, just simply hadn't done it yet. Castiel was sure that presently, one of Dean's friends would drop by and when the man wasn't looking, reassemble them in that silly sentence and get a good laugh out of Dean when he eventually noticed.

 

Dean ate his dinner in front of the T.V., streaming something on Netflix called Doctor Sexy, M.D., which looked to be some sort of medical drama but that Castiel had never even heard of and was mostly sure was basically a glorified soap opera, what with all the wild sex on every possible surface (even the operating table at one point!) and implausible medical conditions. But Dean seemed to enjoy it immensely, throwing his head back in a full-body laugh that Castiel quickly got addicted to, often talking aloud to the characters onscreen, giving them advice and rooting for his favorite couples.

 

Interestingly though, even with Sammy curled up in his lap, there was an air of loneliness around Dean, a gap that Castiel longed to fill, but perhaps he was only projecting, seeing his own desolation in Dean.

 

Dean abandoned the television after awhile, heading into the kitchen to clean up from dinner, then moseying into his room to lay out his work clothes for the next day. Sammy followed him into his room, making himself comfy up on Dean's rumpled bed, watching with bright eyes as Dean loitered in front of his closet for a few minutes, taking out several nice shirts, holding them up against himself one at a time, as if trying to decide which one looked best and Castiel realized he was probably attempting to pick out an outfit for his upcoming date.

 

He watched as Dean pulled his black t-shirt off and slid on a hunter green button-down which made his eyes more vibrant than ever; they were so alluring that Castiel was only peripherally aware of Dean's chiseled chest on display.

 

Dean twisted and turned from the front to the side view, grinning a cheesy smile at himself before scowling in disgust and stripping the shirt off, hauling on a slightly faded heather gray henley over his head instead, smoothing it down over his ribs. The shirt was thin and worn in all the right places, with Dean's remarkably perky nipples a little too visible for Castiel's liking, jealousy of this mystery man that Dean was going to meet spiking through him.

 

Tamping down his possessiveness yet again, Castiel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his head on his fists, gazing at Dean while he surveyed himself, smiling again and at winking at his reflection in the mirror.

 

“Hi... Hey.... How are you? It's nice to meet you, Benny's told me a lot about you.” Dean stuck his hand out to shake with an invisible person, before retracting it, murmuring to himself, “Should I just shake his hand or is hugging a thing? What do you think, Sammy?”

 

Dean smiled bashfully at his reflection, chuckling sheepishly while he leaned down to rub at Sammy's ears to the delight of the cat. “Yeah, it's been awhile since I've gone on a real live date, huh Sammy?”

 

The cat meowed softly at the sound of his name, jumping down off the bed to rub up against Dean's legs, purring his support. Dean huffed loudly in exasperation, dragging his hand down his face.

 

Castiel smiled at the pinkness in Dean's cheeks; he could relate, not having been on a date himself in years, indulging in unsatisfying one night stands here and there when he couldn't hold out any longer. He could only imagine that a date with Dean would exceed even his wildest dreams.

 

Dean undressed once more, hanging the shirts back up and tossing his jeans over the chair in the corner, leaving his boxers on and donned a faded gray AC/DC t-shirt to sleep in.

 

Castiel watched as Dean shut everything down for the night and prepared to go to bed, tucking the Colt pistol that Castiel had admired earlier underneath his pillow, a move that made Castiel frown in confusion. What was Dean afraid of? Did he always sleep with a gun under his pillow or had something happened recently to make him take this particular precaution?

 

Dean switched out the light and stretched out on his back, with Sammy curled up on his chest, nuzzling his furry face against Dean's stubble, loud purring filling the room and Castiel _ached_ , wishing he could step through the screen and climb into bed with Dean. Wished he could cuddle up against his side and keep him safe.

 

Instead, he kept watch over Dean as he gradually fell asleep, snoring lightly.

 

Around him, different news screens were broadcasting the latest about the ferry bombing and listing the names of those who'd died. The death toll had gone up, many of those pulled from the water succumbing to their critical injuries. To Castiel's knowledge, Gabe's body had yet to be recovered, and he couldn't help but harbor the slim hope that perhaps his partner wasn't dead after all and that the whole situation was just a huge misunderstanding. His gut said otherwise, but he wasn't going to think about that right now.

 

Castiel got up once or twice, to relieve himself or get water or coffee, the rest of the team doing the same. Any talking was done quietly and at a bare minimum, as though they were trying to be quiet for the sake of the sleeping Dean. Which, while it struck Castiel as weird, he refrained from questioning, seeing as he was not in a talkative mood and preferred to just watch Dean quietly, treasuring the last precious hours he had to see Dean still alive and whole.

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

Hours later, Dean woke up to a new day and got ready for work, petted Sammy goodbye and headed out, blissfully unaware that, in mere hours, his life would be over.

 

Meanwhile, Castiel was also awake. It was morning again and he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd slept, too much had happened in the interim. Rubbing a hand over his well-past-five-o'clock shadow, he gratefully gulped down the cup of coffee and bagel Sam brought him and then they left again in the shiny black Suburban, but Castiel wasn't headed home for a few hours of shut-eye.

 

Instead, they pulled up at St. Louis Cemetery, which was in walking distance of the French Quarter.

 

Today was Dean's funeral.

 

Mary had texted him early in the morning, letting him know when and where it would be held, explaining that it was actually just a memorial service since she was having Dean cremated as per his wishes and would be keeping the ashes, not burying them. Sam had volunteered to go with Castiel to offer his condolences and help stake out the funeral in the hopes that perhaps their killer would show up.

 

A sea of black umbrellas greeted them, though it wasn't raining heavily, just a light drizzle that made Castiel shiver a bit, wishing he'd worn something heavier. He wasn't surprised at the turnout; it made sense that someone like Dean would have many friends and acquaintances to mourn his loss along with his family. He spotted Mary at the front of the gathering, all alone next to a bearded man wearing wire-framed glasses that Castiel took to be the pastor presiding over the service. A plump, pretty black lady came up and linked arms with Mary, who smiled back at her tremulously.

 

There was an enlarged print of Dean grinning that mega-watt smile, laughing at something out of frame, sitting on an easel surrounded by sunflowers and lilacs, as well as countless bouquets and wreaths, sent by friends and family. It was easy to see that Dean was greatly missed.

 

Staying towards the back of the crowd with Sam, Castiel gazed around, hoping to see someone who looked suspicious or who perhaps didn't belong. In his experience, oftentimes killers liked to linger at the fringes, sadistically feeding off the grief of the mourners of the victim, or hoping to see if there was a police presence, thus gauging whether or not the cops were on the trail of the killer.

 

Sam nudged him and jerked his head to the right, which Castiel assumed meant he was going to patrol the perimeter, keeping on the watch. He nodded at Sam in return and continued his own observations.

 

The service began, the pastor speaking of God and Heaven, intoning all the usual platitudes that were common at such events. Castiel had at one point, in his youth, been quite religious, raised as such by his parents, but life and time had jaded him, instilled him with doubts and questions, causing his faith to lapse, leaving him wishing he could find someone or something to put his faith in once more. The circumstances of the ferry bombing and Gabriel and Dean's murders only seemed to compound his feelings of despair and faithlessness; the state of the world around him only proving that humanity was on its own, God having left the building long ago, never to return.

 

Castiel tuned back in from his musings to hear the pastor wrap up his short sermon, trying to pay attention to his words in the pale hope that he might find a little consolation in this tragic situation. He idly wondered what Dean's stance on religion had been or if this ceremony was purely Mary's choice.

 

“Everything God has done will remain forever, there is nothing to add to it, nothing to take from it. God has done this so that men should be in awe of his works. Whatever is, has already been, and what will be, has been before. God calls forth the past in the glory of resurrection on his Day of final Judgment.” The pastor paused, then turned and beckoned to Mary who stepped up.

 

Sighing quietly in disappointment at what felt like empty, meaningless words, Castiel turned up the collar of his trenchcoat against the rain that was still gently drizzling down, adjusting his dark baseball cap so that his face was shielded. He wanted to hear and feel something _real_ , not just mindless truisms. In a way, he was almost glad the weather was dreary, he didn't think he could've handled it if it had been sunny and beautiful out.

 

Clearing her throat and dabbing at her eyes, Mary gazed around at those assembled. “Thank you all for coming today, I know Dean meant a lot to each and every one of you, he was proud to call you all friends and family. They say that funerals aren't for the dead, but for the living, so that we can keep alive those that are gone by remembering them and taking them with us wherever we go. In my heart, Dean will always be my little boy, happy and smiling and wanting to show me the frog he'd caught in the backyard.” A few people smiled and chuckled at this and Mary beamed wetly back at them.

 

“Um, Dean always loved music, he was forever humming a song or playing his dad's old records. When we first moved here, he was only ten years old and there was this church near our house and one day we saw a jazz funeral procession and Dean asked me, “Why do they always wait until the end to play the good music?” More laughter rose up from the crowd and Castiel smiled with them, glancing around to see where Sam was.

 

Tall as he was, Sam was nowhere to be seen. But towards the back, alongside the curb there were three limos and a hearse parked, Castiel could only guess that the hearse was there for another funeral, owing to the lack of casket for Dean and he was unsure of who might have come in the limos, yet his gaze was drawn to where there were several men congregated. Castiel counted five all together, talking quietly and smoking. One man in particular, tall, muscular and black with a chauffeur's cap pulled down low over his face, caught Castiel's eye.

 

The man didn't seem to be chatting with his fellows, instead sneaking wary glances at everyone around him. Castiel stared at him hard for a handful of seconds and perhaps the man felt his weighty glare, because he abruptly looked in Castiel's direction. He was too far away for Castiel to get a really good, clear look, so he started moving in towards the man, casting another subtle eyeball around, hoping to see Sam and signal for him to get his ass over here, but when his gaze swung back to the man, he had vanished and only a few moments later, in the distance, Castiel heard the roar of a motorcycle engine firing up, then the screech of rubber as the rider peeled out, making his escape.

 

Castiel rushed out to the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of the license plate, but slowed when he realized there was no point in running after the suspect, he had too much of a lead, but at least now Castiel had a little more to go on for when they returned to the lab and continued sifting through the footage of Dean's life.

 

But still, it more than irked him that the guy had ghosted away and Castiel gritted his teeth, harboring the sneaking suspicion that the man who was their bomber and murderer had ostensibly just slipped through his fingers.

 

Reluctantly, Castiel made his way back to the service, unhappy he had missed Mary's precious remembrances of Dean, but just in time to hear her say, “Dean, honey, the music is playing for you, now and forever.” She then brought forth a small stereo and after fiddling with it for a few seconds, pressed play.

 

Signaling the end of the service, the familiar strains of “Ramble On,” by Led Zeppelin poured forth, the infinitely recognizable jangly guitar intro prompting bittersweet grins from all those present, obviously aware that this had been one of Dean's favorite songs.

 

Indeed, Castiel had just heard Dean singing it last night as he had prepared his dinner and he found himself mouthing along with the words, watching as Mary tearfully did the same, she caught his eye and smiled softly at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

 

Castiel let the sound of the guitar, drums and tambourine wash over him, Jimmy Page's sweet voice sounding nothing like Dean's, yet it was Dean's voice serenading him in his memory and Castiel realized he had to be careful, he was getting in way over his head here.

 

He'd never had this kind of difficulty compartmentalizing a case before, he felt like he was drowning in the overlap of just an hour ago, watching Dean greet the day, whistling as he went off to work, alive and beautiful, when in the actuality of now, he was attending Dean's funeral, watching his friends and family mourn their loss.

 

In a desperate moment of confusion, for a few seconds, Castiel dazedly wondered which reality was the truth, before wishing with all his might that it was the one where Dean still existed, somewhere out there, still in the world.

 

His heart was twisting painfully in his chest as he went to turn away, but movement in his peripheral snagged his attention, glancing over, he saw Sam and Mary both waving to him. Obligingly, he made his way to them, allowing Mary to enfold him in a hug when he got close, whispering in his ear her thanks to him for coming, before releasing him.

 

“It was a nice service,” Castiel said finally, unsure of what else to say, moving back a little to stand next to Sam, who was looking tired, damp and vaguely uncomfortable.

 

Mary shrugged, but nodded in agreement. “It probably seemed very quick, but I didn't think I could bear to drag things out. When Dean's father died, he had wanted to be cremated and Dean told me that if anything ever happened to him, he wanted the same. I just...I never thought I'd ever really have to deal with it. A parent should never have to bury their child. It feels like just a day ago, I was frantic that he was missing and now he's just dead and gone...I don't really know what to do now...” She trailed off, her tears overflowing as she ducked her head.

 

Again Castiel found himself frustratingly wordless, sorry was totally inadequate, so he reached out to squeeze her hand. She latched onto him tightly as though he was her only lifeline in a stormy sea and his heart went out to her. He couldn't understand why he felt such a draw to her, but knew he had to do his best to be of comfort.

 

With a determined sniff, Mary lifted her chin, meeting their eyes once more and Castiel couldn't help but admire her strength. “Agent Wesson says you've got some good leads?” Mary inquired, glancing between him and Sam for confirmation.

 

“We're investigating every possible lead, and we are gonna catch this guy, I promise you.” Castiel assured.

 

Mary bobbed her head frantically, blinking back tears. “I know you will,” she choked out.

 

Sam smiled at her reassuringly, patting her gently on the shoulder, before heading over to the car, shaking his cell phone at Castiel, which he took to mean that Sam had a few calls to make.

 

As Sam walked away, the black lady who had been at Mary's side earlier came back over, standing next to Mary, curling a motherly arm around her shoulders and gazing at Castiel expectantly.

 

“And who is this young man?” She asked, face kindly, eyes sharp and knowing, voice a sweet and low southern drawl.

 

Mary cleared her throat and swiped at her eyes. “Oh, Missouri, this is Castiel Novak, he's the agent handling Dean's mur--... case,” she explained, stumbling over her words a bit.

 

“Well, I know you'll do right by that boy and his momma, here, won't you?” Missouri affirmed, looking him over and nodding as though she liked what she saw.

 

“Yes, ma'am,” Castiel replied respectfully.

 

“Good boy. Now, come along, honey, we gotta get you in outta this rain 'fore you catch cold,” Missouri coaxed, chivying Mary ahead of her, mother-henning her along and Castiel was glad that Mary had someone to look out for her.

 

Mary went to obey, but turned back for a moment, catching Castiel's eye pleadingly, “You'll let me know what you find out?”

 

“You'll be the first to know,” he guaranteed. Mary smiled gratefully and walked away.

 

Castiel turned to Missouri and held his hand out to shake in farewell, but she clasped his hand in both of hers instead for a moment, staring intently at him before pulling Castiel in abruptly for a slightly awkward hug.

 

He had to hunch over some to accommodate her small stature and she leaned up on her tiptoes, her breath warm in his ear as she whispered, “You _**can**_ save him, this time you _**will**_ ,” Missouri drew back, her dark gaze boring into him as Castiel felt his jaw drop and he stared back at her, dumbfounded.

 

“How did you--?” He stammered.

 

She just shook her head and smiled enigmatically at him, giving his hand one last firm squeeze before releasing him. “You will.”

 

Missouri hurried away without a backwards glance, leaving Castiel gaping after her in shock, wondering if everyone was in on some big secret and he was just the last to know.

 

Shaking free from his confusion and amazement, he strode over to the car where Sam was just getting off the phone. “That was Ash. I told him we were gonna head back soon here.”

 

Castiel nodded, still kind of dazed from his encounter with Missouri.

 

“Hey man, you okay? You look sorta pale.”

 

“I'm fine, Sam.” He answered hoarsely.

 

“Alright, well let's get going then. Do you need to stop anywhere on the way?”

 

“Umm, actually yes, I need to swing by my house and check on my cat,” Castiel admitted, somewhat distractedly, feeling guilty at having forgotten about Meg.

 

Sam smiled. “Sure thing.”

 

Remembering the man who had fled the scene earlier, Castiel spoke up. “Hey, when you were patrolling, did you notice if there were four limo drivers or five?”

 

Sam thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I saw four limos, well, three, if you don't count the hearse. Must have been four drivers, right?”

 

Castiel shook his head. “He was here.”

 

At Sam's expression of confusion and surprise, Castiel told him about the suspicious looking man whom he had seen acting shifty and after hearing Castiel's account, Sam agreed that the man could definitely be a viable suspect, especially when Castiel related what he and Balthazar had noticed on the bridge surveillance footage, of the man on a motorcycle, moments before the blast.

 

With renewed intent, they stopped quickly by Castiel's house to replenish Meg's food and water supplies. Castiel also took a gloriously hot, but short shower and packed himself an overnight bag, with extra clothing and toiletries, unsure of when he'd have the luxury of being home again in the foreseeable future. In forty-five minutes, he and Sam were back on the road again.

 

They had work to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was short, but I love your thoughts and comments, they keep me going in hard times :-) oh, and as ever, it's un-beta'd, so any mistakes you find are mine, I'll go thru and clean it up when I have the chance.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long between updates, hopefully you enjoy the new chapter anyways :-)  
> Oh, and sorry if the formatting came out a little weird, I was having issues with Ao3 and as always, this is un-beta'd, so any and all mistakes are mine.

When they returned, they found Ash pacing like a lean, hungry tiger in a cage, hyped up on Red Bull, no doubt, while Charlie and Kevin were bickering about Star Wars, but Castiel had no time to pay attention to their petty arguing. Ash was on them as soon as they walked in the door.

 

“Well? Did you find anything we can use?”

 

“Not as such, though I am sure now that the bomber was at the funeral, but he slipped through my fingers,” Castiel admitted regretfully.

 

“So, what's our next move?” Ash queried, both him and Sam looking to Castiel for direction, with Charlie and Kevin tabling their Star Wars debate to listen avidly.

 

“Dean is at work right now, so we stake out his work place, let's start there,” Castiel decided.

 

“Alright, gang,” Ash hollered, “You heard the man, let's get to it! Charlie, I need an address!”

 

While Charlie worked her magic, Kevin donned his noise-canceling headphones and curled his fingers around the joysticks, waiting for Charlie to give him a location. The large viewer screens showed Dean's house, and on the adjacent screens, images of the Algiers Ferry flashed by, things calm and normal in the time before the bombing. Only the televisions off to the side showed the horrible aftermath of the tragedy as all the news stations were broadcasting live footage of the crime scene.

 

Settling themselves behind the long table once more, they didn't have long to wait before Charlie called out, “Palace Restaurant and Nightclub, 1801 Chartres, address is in range!”

 

The clattering of keystrokes was the only thing heard for a few seconds before the main wall screen blurred out, “ _Lens Adjusting_ ” flashing by briefly then resolving into an overhead grid view of the city, zooming in on an L-shaped two story building with rooftop seating.

 

“Palace Restaurant, huh? They've got good food there, I hear,” Sam remarked. Castiel only nodded, he'd never been, so he couldn't say, but frankly, all he cared about right now was catching a glimpse of Dean.

 

Kevin was furiously twirling the joysticks, moving them at light speed through the establishment, which was overrun with the heat signatures of many warm bodies. Leaning in, Castiel focused on the screen like his life depended on it, and finally, there was Dean, talking to a large party of diners in front of a long, polished mahogany bar.

 

“There, in the red shirt, to the left,” Castiel directed Kevin, who sent the feed on the viewer screen surging forward to Dean's location. They locked on him just in time to hear him apologize to the group for the long wait and offer them free drinks on the house.

 

Castiel watched, mesmerized, as Dean, with charm and wit and that mega-watt smile, calmed down the annoyed diners and assuaged them with free alcohol. Dean wore a wine-colored button down, tucked neatly into charcoal grey slacks with a short, black half-apron tied firmly around his trim waist and in Castiel's opinion, cut quite the dashing figure. After a few seconds, a phone began to ring, and at first Castiel assumed it was the restaurant's line, but then Dean excused himself out to the back patio, which was far less crowded, and pulled out his cellphone.

 

“Hello? Hello?” Dean pressed the phone to his ear and plugged his fingers into his other ear, trying to block out the low-level din of the surrounding patrons.

 

“Kevin, can we get the audio on the phone conversation? And Charlie, track that incoming phone number!” Ash barked out.

 

Charlie's fingers were flying across the keyboard before he even finished his sentence and Kevin was flicking switches and punching buttons like a pro, pulling in the audio fast enough to catch the first sentence out of the mystery caller's mouth.

 

“...are you the guy with the Bronco for sale?”

 

“That's him,” Castiel spoke up immediately, his gut instinct tugging at him.

 

“What? Are you sure? How do you know?” Sam asked him in rapid-fire fashion.

 

“That's him,” Castiel repeated, gaze fixed firmly on Dean.

 

“Well, call up the phone list. Yo, my Queen, you find that number yet?” Ash nudged Charlie.

 

“Almost got it,” Charlie answered, even as her eyes remained glued to her screen, scrolling through veritable miles of data.

 

“When you find it, cross-check it with the phone list, see if it's a number we've tracked before.”

 

Back on the screen, “Yep, that's me,” Dean told the unknown caller.

 

“Keep the tape running, Charlie, I'm gonna want a recording of this conversation for voice analysis,” Castiel instructed. The redhead nodded in reply, not missing a beat.

 

“Well, hello there. Let me tell you, first off, I'm what you could call a real motivated buyer...” the mystery caller had a deep, rich baritone voice, a tone that was self-assured and just a little bit cocky.  
  


“I'll just bet you are,” Castiel growled darkly under his breath.

 

“I'm ready to get something right away,” the caller went on.

 

“That sounds great! I need to sell something right away,” Dean conceded, a smile lighting up his face.

 

“Your price looks good, model, mileage...exactly what I need. So, where can I come by and see it?”

 

“Don't tell him!” Castiel cautioned, even though he knew Dean couldn't hear him.

 

Dean pushed a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Uhh, I'm at 827 Kings Oak, in the French Quarter. Need directions?”

 

“Dammit, now that bastard knows where he lives...goddammit!” Castiel slammed his hand down on the table in consternation, ignoring the looks that the rest of the crew shot him.

 

“No, no, I'll find you. Is tomorrow night good?” The caller asked, and perhaps it was Castiel's imagination, but he thought he could detect a triumphant smirk in the caller's tone.

 

“Actually, I...ughh...tomorrow night is not good...” Dean admitted apologetically.

 

“Tomorrow?” Sam questioned.

 

“I'm going out tomorrow,” Dean told the unknown caller, volunteering way too much information in Castiel's opinion.

 

“Mmhmm.” Castiel shook his head, knowing what the caller was up to. “He wants to wait until the last possible moment to steal Dean's car, because then it's too late to report it.” Castiel answered Sam's inquiry.

 

“How does Tuesday sound?” Dean asked the caller hopefully.

 

“Got it!” Charlie fist-pumped the air in exultation. “504-555-0310. Address unknown.”

 

“I see it,” Kevin confirmed. “Tracking location now.”

 

“Ahh, I think that's gonna be too late,” the caller had a note of disappointment in his voice, but Castiel wasn't fooled. “See, I need the vehicle Tuesday morning. Is there anyone else there that can show me the car?”

 

“No, sorry,” Dean confessed.

 

Castiel smirked darkly. “Hmm...he's thinking real hard...a date means somebody's gonna be expecting Dean and will miss him if he doesn't show up. That could ruin his plans. Charlie, I want to see this guy!”

 

“No good. It's an outdoor phone booth. Three miles out of range,” Charlie informed him.

 

“I hope to hear back from you,” Dean told the caller.

 

“Can we get someone out there with the goggle rig?” Sam asked at large.

 

Charlie typed frantically, bringing up a view of a strange looking piece of head gear on another screen.

 

“What's that do? Extend the range?” Castiel wondered aloud.

 

“Yeah, it's immediate line of sight. But we can use it to gather data outside the target area,” Kevin piped up.

 

“Provided there's any data to gather,” Ash grunted, leaning back in his chair. “How long is this guy gonna be at the phone booth?”

 

“Not long, I'm sure.” Castiel muttered.

 

Dean said his goodbyes to the caller and hung up, breaking the connection. “Story of my life,” he snorted, looking downcast as he headed back inside the restaurant.

 

“Yeah, story of my life, too,” Castiel sighed. “Alright, now that we've heard the voice of our bomber, we're gonna go after him the old-fashioned way. Can we get video surveillance on that phone booth?”

 

“We can access all surveillance available to any government agency,” Charlie told him a tad smugly.

 

Castiel grinned wolfishly. “Then let's track this bastard down!”

 

In seconds, Charlie had the exact location, a pay phone on 1985 Bourbon St. and Kevin was honing in on the small booth, the viewer screen showing an overhead grid once more. There were nine different surveillance cameras in the area, but only one had a mostly unobstructed view of the pay phone.

 

“Okay, this is from the ATM cam across the street,” Charlie told them, rewinding the footage a few minutes to reveal Dean's mystery caller. The fuzzy black and white feed showed a dimly lit phone booth across the street, a tall man blocking most of it with his body. Castiel studied him carefully, the man's body type and build looked to be the same as the suspect he had seen at Dean's funeral.

 

“Hey Kev, can we get any closer than this?” Ash asked.

 

“Not enough for an ID,” Kevin answered, zooming them in as close as possible but still ending up with only a blurry view of the man with his back to them. The phone conversation with Dean ended and the man leaned down to pick something up and then walked off into the night.

 

Castiel stared at the image intensely. “Wait a second. Go back a little bit...Stop. What is that on the ground that he grabbed?”

 

Kevin paused the feed and enhanced the image as much as possible. “Looks like a camcorder bag or a briefcase, maybe.”

 

An idea struck Castiel like a bolt of lightning. “Do we have facial recognition software?”

 

“Oh, you'd better believe we do,” Sam chortled, apparently having caught on to what Castiel had in mind.

 

Castiel quirked a smile at him, thinking of the surveillance footage that he and Balthazar had watched of the man on the bridge. “Let's use it on the bag. Cross-match it to all the bags on the south side of the city in the 48 hours leading up to the explosion.”

 

Obediently, Charlie and Kevin got to work, running the image of the bag through the software, the computer making chirps and beeps as it processed the information.

 

“Don't think it's ever been used this way,” Ash said thoughtfully.

 

“Yeah, it's kind of a simple image to go for a match,” Sam agreed.

 

Castiel took a sip from the now cold and god-knows-how-old coffee cup at his elbow. “Well, we've got nowhere else to go.”

 

There was a lull for a few minutes as the computers ran the cross-check match, while the humans waited impatiently for answers. Finally the machines made some positive chiming noises and Charlie and Kevin fist-bumped each other.

 

“Bingo! Look, same bag!” Charlie crowed gleefully.

 

“Got you now, you bastard!” Castiel smiled tightly. “Okay freeze the feed...yeah, it looks like the same guy at the phone booth. Where is this?”

 

“Security camera at the Algiers Ferry dock,” Kevin supplied.

 

Both Sam and Ash exchanged glances, then looked to Castiel, eyebrows raised. “When is this?” They asked in unison.

 

Charlie checked the feed. “Two nights before the explosion. Seven hours from now.”

 

Castiel leaned forward and quirked an eyebrow at her, slightly confused. “So, two nights before the explosion is seven hours from now?”

 

Charlie gestured at the screen. “In our timeline, where Dean is still alive. Seven hours from now, we will be able to access this point in our time window.”

 

Sitting back in his seat, Castiel stared up at the image of the mystery man on the screen, dark and blurry and still hiding so many secrets.

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

Castiel was taking a brief break to freshen up a little when the bathroom door opened and he glanced up while brushing his teeth to see Sam walk in, looking tired and in dire need of a shower, shave and a haircut.

 

He walked up beside Castiel at the sink and rubbed a hand over his face, leaning against the counter.

 

“Kind of creepy to see that guy's life go down in flames, huh?”

 

“You mean Dean?” Castiel asked through a mouthful of toothpaste.

 

Sam bobbed his head, adopting a sad puppy face. “Makes you appreciate life. I know the first chance I get to go home, I'm gonna hug my girlfriend and call my mom. I suggest you do the same.”

 

“Nobody home, unless you count my cat.”

 

“Huh. How'd you let that happen?”

 

Castiel finished brushing and spat into the sink, rinsing his mouth out with a handful of water, patting his mouth dry with a paper towel and turning to face Sam.

 

“Everything you have, you lose, right? Mother, father, gone. Loved ones and friends can be gone in a second. That's what this job teaches you, or so I've found. No matter what, no matter how hard you grab onto something, you still lose it.”

 

Sam looked discomfited by his caustic statement and tried to rally. “Well, we're gonna grab onto this guy in a few hours. We're gonna nail this son of a bitch!”

 

Castiel made a noncommittal noise.

 

“What?”

 

Castiel shook his head, smearing a hand over his stubble, suddenly feeling as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “No matter what, we still lose him. We still lose Dean. Right?”

 

Sam's sad puppy eyes intensified, and he gazed at Castiel sorrowfully before nodding in the affirmative.

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

Castiel stared blankly at the giant wall screen in front of him, his thoughts far away. Around him, news stations reported on the tragedy, the different broadcasts all overlapping into a constant drone of disheartening static.

 

On the viewer screen, Dean seemed similarly distant. He had finished his shift at work and had slid easily into babysitter mode when Benny had asked him to and was now quietly watching some sitcom while Benny's little girl Elizabeth dozed peacefully in his lap. Presently, the child shifted and awoke, yawning sleepily. Dean smiled down at her sweetly, “Time for bed, kiddo.”

 

The girl latched her arms around his neck trustingly, allowing Dean to rise and carry her down the hallway and into a small guest bedroom, decorated simply and with a few boxes stacked in the corner, signifying its use as a storage area as well.

 

Dean tenderly tucked Elizabeth into the twin bed, making sure she had her teddy bear and that the nightlight was working properly.

 

Absently, Castiel observed the domestic scene, part of his mind lamenting the fact that Dean would never have the chance to have his own children and be the wonderful father Castiel could see he already was. But another, more analytical part of his mind was piecing together certain different things he had seen over the span of his time here, in this secret government laboratory. The puzzles pieces were aligning and a picture was starting to form. Now to test out his theory.

 

On the viewer screen, he heard Dean answer in response to something the little girl asked him. “It's never too late, sweetie. We can call momma and daddy right now, if you want.”

 

Mind made up, Castiel dug around in his trenchcoat pockets until he found what he was looking for, a small laser penlight that he used sometimes to play with Meg, or more accurately, to drive her up the wall for his own entertainment. Turning slightly away from the others, he flicked it on, making sure it still worked. Satisfied, he faced front once more, glancing over at Sam and Ash, who had their heads together, quietly discussing something. Kevin and Charlie were both typing away at their respective computers, sifting through data, presumably. No one was paying attention to Castiel, so he took his chance.

 

Dean was sitting on the bed next to Elizabeth and after hugging and kissing her goodnight on the forehead he leaned over to turn off the lamp. At that moment, Castiel switched on the penlight, the red beam bright as he pointed it straight at the screen, focusing it on the lamp shade next to Dean. Just as he'd suspected, the ruby ray of light caught Dean's eye, prompting him to gasp in surprise and whip his head around to stare at the lamp, which bore the bright scarlet dot of Castiel's laser pointer.

 

There was the loud metallic squeal of audio feedback, the distortion of many voices and then deafening static on Castiel's end, then the whole room went dark.

 

Immediately, a flurry of voices starting squawking in dismay. Meanwhile, Castiel sat back and calmly took in the chaos.

 

“What's going on?”

 

“I don't know, just give it a second!”  
  


“Kevin, what'd you do?”

 

“It wasn't me, I swear! Wait, it's rebooting, it's coming back on!”

 

“Are we back online?”

 

The viewer screens flashed, distorted and out of focus and the computers were all making various mechanical noises of distress.

 

“What the hell is going on??”

 

“Dammit, Charlie, are we back online yet or not?!”  
  


“I don't know! I don't know what happened! Something broached the field!”

 

“What? What broached the field?!”

 

The lights weakly flickered back on and Castiel loudly slapped the laser pointer onto the table, startling the cacophony of voices into sudden silence.

 

All eyes were on him and he stared back, stone-faced. “That's what broached the field, right there.” He tapped his finger on the laser pointer for emphasis.

 

“Now then. Do you wanna tell me what the hell this whole thing really is?”

 

They all stared back at him like a group of deer in the headlights, but no one volunteered an answer. Sam and Ash kept shooting side-eye looks at each other, so Castiel spoke directly to the two of them.

 

“It's not surveillance, is it, Sam?”

 

Sam gave him such a hangdog look that Castiel almost, but not quite, felt bad for him, but he brushed it off. He didn't appreciate being kept in the dark and he really hated being flat out lied to. Add in the fact that everything about this case was hitting just a little too close to home for him, and you had one pissed off ATF agent who deserved some goddamned answers.

 

The lights continued to waver overhead, as if unsure whether or not they were coming back on for good. Castiel turned his attention to Ash instead. “It's not infrared thermal-imaging either, is it, Ash? You guys have figured out a way to look into the past, haven't you?”

 

Silence continued to reign in the room with the exception of the machines. However, the guilty looks on everyone's faces spoke volumes, but Castiel wanted a clear, vocal answer.

 

“You have, haven't you? Yes or no, dammit!” He slammed his fist down on the table, startling Sam next to him, who let out an involuntary yelp before yelling, “No!”

 

Castiel stared him down. “You're lying. You're lying and you know it!”

 

“I've told you everything I can!” Sam protested in vain.

 

“Don't you LIE to me! He SAW it, Sam! I pointed this thing at him, just now, and he responded to it from four and a half days ago! Explain that to me, if you can!”

 

Once again, no one said anything. “Somebody had better explain it to me right now!!” Castiel fairly roared. “Or do I need to remind you that I am an armed and dangerous ATF agent?”

 

It wasn't like Castiel was going to whip out his gun and start firing, but these people weren't hardened criminals, he doubted that most of them even left their laboratories on a regular basis, so in this case, a little intimidation could go a long way, or at least that's how he planned to justify his actions if word of this ever got out to his higher-ups.

 

Ash, who had been staring back and forth between Castiel and Sam as though he was at a tennis match and practically vibrating in his chair, finally snapped. “Alright! Okay, okay...Charlie, hit it!”

 

Charlie's eyes widened almost comically as Castiel's hard blue eyes landed on her and her gaze darted around, beseeching her co-workers for help. Finding none, she bravely forged ahead.

 

“So, um, for three years, Cambridge has been working on a project for National Reconnaissance on an R & D grant,” Charlie paused, trying to gather her thoughts when Ash jumped in from where he was now pacing anxiously.

 

“We were attempting to use concentrated bursts of energy to enhance the sensitivity of optical telescopes. In the process, we had a breakthrough. We found that if given enough energy, we could warp the very fabric of space.”

 

Castiel glared at him. “I said explain it to me, not talk science!”

 

Sam finally tried to help. “They found a way to uhh..”

 

But Castiel cut him off, sick of the evasion tactics. “Look, tell you what. Why don't you guys just keep talking bullshit and I'll just sit here until you figure out what it is you really want to tell me.”

 

Plopping himself back down in his chair, he leveled his gaze upon them, doing his best to mold his features into the look that Balthazar always referred to as his “warrior of God preparing to smite you” face.

 

It must have worked because Sam started talking again. “They found a way to fold space back onto itself.”

 

Castiel stared at them all stonily.

 

Ash started talking nervously this time.

 

“Alright, look. We're used to viewing space as flat, right?” Ash picked up a blank piece of paper. “Like this piece of paper here, okay? To see something from a distance, light has always had to travel the long way across the flat space in between. But given what I was trying to explain, we can fold the space, bring the target closer to us.”

 

Ash folded the sheet of paper in half, demonstrating. “Bringing the target closer to us and creating what's known as an Einstein-Rosen bridge, otherwise known as a wormhole, and suspend it via gravitational field.”

 

Castiel eyed him thoughtfully. “So, that's what we're looking at?”

 

“Yep, that's it, chief,” Ash let out a deep breath, blowing his bangs out of his face.

 

“What's on the other end of the bridge?”

 

Ash gazed steadily at him for a moment before answering. “Dean's house.”

 

Castiel felt his blood run cold. He'd had his suspicions, but...to hear it stated so plainly, it was mind-boggling. Another thought occurred to him, but Charlie interrupted before he could voice it.

 

“Basically, we're folding space in a higher dimension to create an instantaneous link between two distant points.”

 

“Instantaneous, huh?” Castiel shook his head in wonder.

 

“Well, that's what we hoped for and that's what we expected, but the electrical force...it was insane! We used huge amounts of energy to create this bridge!” Charlie flailed her arms about trying to describe the vast amounts.

 

“How huge are we talking?” Castiel question, eyebrows raised skeptically.

 

Ash smirked somewhat nervously. “Remember that little blackout we had a few years back?”

 

Castiel nodded slowly, yes, he did indeed remember.

 

“Heh, right. Yeah, New York blamed Canada, Canada blamed Michigan...”  
  


Castiel furrowed his brow. “It was half the Northeast! You're saying you guys caused that? Fifty million homes without power?”

 

“My bad,” Kevin squeaked, speaking up for the first time.

 

“Well, I still say we blame Canada, but--”

 

“Okay,” Castiel cut in, not wanting them to get off track, “so why can't I see this bridge?”

 

“It's not visible to the human eye. I mean, it's real, though. It's just as real and just as solid as a cell phone signal or a radio wave.”

 

Castiel sighed tiredly and rubbed at his eyes, feeling the beginnings of a tension headache starting to form behind his eyes and at his temples. “Alright, so how do we use this 'invisible bridge'?”

 

“We can look back, into the past, four and a half days,” Ash answered simply.

 

“And what, we can look anywhere?”

 

“Limited radius only,” Charlie piped up. “In a sense, we're always looking into the past. Even light reflected from yourself in the mirror takes a few nanoseconds to reflect back.”

 

“So what you're telling me here is that on the other side of this bridge, is the _actual_ past?” Castiel waved at the wall screen behind him which had finally come back to life, showing Dean peacefully asleep in his bed, Sammy curled up in a fluffy heap at his hip.

 

“Yes!” Sam, Ash, Charlie and Kevin all spoke together.

 

“But look, we created this thing by pure accident, okay? This space and time...this time window is a complete fluke. Do you understand? And _everybody_ is _terrified_ of screwing with it for fear of losing it or suffering the consequences of God only know what...which is why it can only be used as a retroactive tool. If we--”

 

The thought that Castiel had entertained earlier, resurfaced and he cut Ash off, suddenly desperate to know the answer to this particular question. “Tell me something. Is Dean alive or is he dead?”

 

“You went to his funeral, Cas!” Sam choked out, sounding slightly stunned.

 

“I'm well aware of that, Sam, but I think the question still applies and I'd like an answer please. Is Dean alive or is he dead?” Castiel's tone was deadly serious.

 

Castiel must've started to look pissed off again because Ash anxiously stepped forward as though he was trying to head off another blow out on Castiel's part.

 

“Alright, life, like time and space, is not merely a local phenomenon--”

 

Castiel finally lost his temper with all the techno-babble and science chatter. “ENOUGH!” He bellowed, scaring everyone back into silence.

 

He glared around the room. “Am I asking a hard question?”

 

Ash cleared his throat and rubbed at his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like, “Looks like I picked a bad week to stop snorting hash!”

 

The others giggled nervously, sounding nearly hysterical.

 

Castiel ignored them.

 

He took a deep breath. “Fine. I'll speak slow, so those of you with Ph.D.'s in the room can understand me. Look at this monitor here,” Castiel gestured at one of the smaller screens off to the side that was showing fractured images of the Algiers Ferry.

 

As they all turned to stare at it, Castiel swiftly moved forward and hefted up his desk chair and threw it as hard as he could into the monitor they were all gazing obediently at with a resounding crash. The screen splintered into a million jagged shards, emitting sparks and a loud metallic shriek.

 

Ash and Sam only jumped back in surprise, but Charlie screamed in fright and Kevin tumbled sideways out of his chair. All of them stared at Castiel with wide, shocked eyes.

 

“There. Now the monitor is broken. It is dead. It is not temporarily transitioned into another state of entropy. It is dead, right? So tell me, is Dean _alive_ or is he _dead_?” Castiel ground out, kicking at the broken screen.

 

“He's alive, okay?” Ash spat out.

 

“Alright! Finally, a straight answer! Now we're getting somewhere. You said that light could go back. What else?”

 

“Nothing,” Sam answered quickly.

 

“Don't test me, Sam. Something else could be sent back.” Castiel warned. “Come on, Sam. Something. What? A body? A human being?”

 

“No!” Sam yelled.

 

“Well, technically...not a person, not alive, anyways,” Kevin spoke up shakily from where he'd finally re-seated himself.

 

“Why not?” Castiel growled.

 

“Because you can't beat the physics! The electromagnetic field. Look, you transition across what's known as the Wheeler Boundary, okay? An EM pulse annihilates all electrical activity. That's your heartbeat, that's brainwaves, that's everything!” Ash slashed his hands through the air wildly.

 

“So you're telling me you haven't tried it with a person?”

 

“Let's just say that we've done enough tests to know that it's not even possible. It's not even theoretically possible. The guinea pig goes back, dead. A drosophila fly, dead--”

 

Castiel was mildly horrified; he loved guinea pigs. “You tested it on a guinea pig?!” He shook his head, trying to focus back on the matter at hand instead. “What about a radio signal?”

 

“Won't work. The field would scramble it,” Charlie answered him, sympathy in her blue-green eyes.

 

“Alright, then what about a note, a warning note?” Castiel felt as though he was grasping at straws by this point, but there just _had_ to be _something_.

 

“No,” Sam said flatly.

 

“A single piece of paper. One sheet.” Castiel wheedled.

 

“No,” Sam repeated.

 

Kevin cleared his throat. “Well, actually, if we kept the mass low...”

 

“No!” Sam yelled, turning red in the face.

 

“This could work! It could work, you know it could! We know where our bomber is going to be, we can apprehend him and put him behind bars before he even gets a chance to blow up the ferry!” Castiel protested.

 

“And how do we do that, exactly?” Sam sneered.

 

“We send it to ourselves!” Castiel shouted. “Send it to me! Yes, send it to me, to my office. Send it to my office four and a half days ago, as an anonymous tip, and we can capture this guy before he even meets Dean!”

 

Castiel watched as they all exchanged thoughtful glances, pondering his idea and he barreled on ahead, enthusiastic about his plan.

 

“We have his location, we know when he's going to be at the dock. It's a solid strategy!”

 

Charlie and Kevin were nodding, Sam looked peeved, but Ash was pinning him with a sorrowful yet understanding look.

 

“Listen,” Ash spoke softly, “whatever you did, you did it already. Whether you send this note or you don't send this note, it doesn't matter. You _cannot_ change the past. It is physically impossible.”

 

Castiel felt the wind go out of his sails. Sighing wearily once more, he sank down onto a vacant chair, peering at Ash dejectedly. “What if there's more than physics?”

 

Ash covered his face with his hands for a few moments, huffing out a loud breath before reappearing. “Okay, something spiritual, right?”

 

“Yeah, something spiritual.”

 

“Okay, look at it this way. God's mind is made up about this, alright? I mean, you know, call it fate, call it destiny, whatever. But the truth is, it _already_ happened, it will _keep_ happening, and it _always_ will happen. End of story.”

 

Castiel glowered at him. “Maybe.”

 

Cas shook his head in disgust. “So why don't we call it fate, since we're calling it something? Maybe you're right, maybe you guys are exactly right. I don't know. All I do know, is this. For all of my career, I have been trying to catch people _after_ they do something horrible. Just once, I'd like to catch somebody _before_ they do something horrible! Alright? Can you understand that?!”

 

It was quiet once more in the aftermath of Castiel's outburst, but then Ash finally spoke up. “Alright, let's give it a shot. What have we got to lose?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what did y'all think? Thoughts, predictions and comments are all greatly encouraged :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's a new chapter, just in time for Turkey Day! ;-) Hope you enjoy it, I have to admit, writing action sequences and chase scenes are not really my strong points when it comes to plotting a story, but I did my best, so hopefully it all makes sense and you can follow along easily. If there's any confusion as to what's going on, just leave me a comment and I'll try to clarify for ya. This is un-beta'd as usual, so all mistakes are mine. And you might notice that I have updated the chapter count, I think I can wrap this bad boy up in about 7 chapters or so, fingers crossed, but no promises and there will probably be an epilogue as well.
> 
> Thanks again to all of you for taking the time to read this story, and for your kind comments and kudos. <3
> 
> And a special shout out to Kamera! You left me two really sweet comments. I was having a spectacularly shitty day and when I read them, it actually made me burst into tears, but in a good way, a stress relief way LOL Your appreciation and enthusiasm over this story helped me greatly in cranking out another chapter this quickly. I'm still going through a shitty time right now, for a number of reasons, just like many of you, I'm sure, but it really does help to know that people enjoy what I'm writing and that I can help, even a little bit to brighten someone's day and provide an escape to another world that they might desperately need...:-)
> 
> Alright, I'm done. Go read! :D

~*~*~

It took another hour for the program to come completely back online, Charlie and Kevin working furiously to ensure that the system was properly working. They all settled behind the table except for Ash, who couldn't seem to stop anxiously pacing back and forth.

 

Castiel supplied Charlie with the address of his office while Sam wrote out the warning note.

 

“ATF Headquarters, 9200 Carondelet, address is in range!” Charlie called out. The viewer screen was showing an overhead grid of the city once more, zeroing in on the block Castiel's office was located at.

 

Castiel peered over Sam's shoulder as he wrote out the note.

 

“'Surveilling' has two L's,” Castiel corrected.

 

Sam stared at what he had written for a few seconds before grumbling and tearing the piece of paper off the pad and crumpling it up into a ball which he then lobbed in Cas' direction, which he easily dodged.

 

Ash smirked. “Since this is such a ridiculous and dangerous idea, not to mention a tremendous waste of taxpayer dollars, the least we can do is get the damn spelling right, huh Sammy?”

 

Sam glowered back at him with the bitchface to end all bitchfaces and started rewriting the note, taking care to make sure his spelling was correct this time. “Dude. What have I told you about calling me Sammy?!”

 

Ash just smirked in an infuriating manner.

 

“You know that's not necessarily true. Branching universe theory holds that you can do---” Charlie started, addressing Ash's comment.

 

But Ash interrupted her with a loud guffaw. “Oh lord, here we go again. Branching universe theory bullshit!”

 

“Hey, shut up! Just because you don't believe in it!”

 

Castiel cut them both off before they could get any further; seriously, sometimes it was like working with toddlers when it came to this bunch! “And what, may I ask, is branching universe theory?”

 

“I'll show you, c'mere,” Charlie beckoned, grabbing a blank legal pad. Working quickly, she drew a straight line across the page, with directional arrows at each end, the left side pointing towards the past and the right end towards the future.

 

“Okay, so the traditional view of time is linear, like a river, flowing from the past, towards the future.” Charlie marked a 'P' at the left side of the line and an 'F' by the right side to indicate.

 

“But, you can change the course of a river, right?” Castiel asked with interest.

 

Charlie grinned at him. “Exactly. Introduce a significant enough event at any point in this river and you create a new branch.” She marked a small 'x' in the middle of the timeline and drew a half circle over it. She drew more arrowed lines from the 'x' pointing downwards to signify a new, alternate timeline.

 

Ash rolled his eyes and snorted in disbelief.

 

“You create a new branch,” Charlie repeated loudly, ignoring Ash, “still flowing towards the future, but along a different route. Boom! Changed.” She held the pad up to show Castiel and the room at large.

 

Ash sauntered over to poke at her drawing. “Yeah, but that 'river' is the Mississippi, and we're chucking in what amounts to a pebble into it. That's a very few _tiny_ ripples in kind of a _big_ body of water, don't'cha think?” Ash flicked at the side her her head sarcastically.

 

Charlie ducked away from him and scowled. “Traditionalist!”

 

Castiel was intrigued though. “Say we do create this new branch. What happens to the old one? To this one?”

 

Ash cackled. “Why don't you ask the radical?”

 

Castiel turned to Charlie, who shrugged noncommittally. “Well, it might continue parallel to the new branch, but most likely, it ceases to exist.” Charlie scribbled lines through her drawing of the alternate timeline. “It's hard to tell, after all, it's only a theory.”

 

Seeing the frown on Castiel's face, Ash spoke up. “Basically, the idea is, _we_ cease to exist. Alright? This version of us, anyways. You know, we never came here, we didn't meet Cas, we don't remember any of it ever happening.”

 

Sam stood up with the finished note in hand and smirked at the rest of them. “Well, hot damn, that's worth $10 billion dollars right there!”

 

Charlie and Ash regarded him somewhat sheepishly, but Castiel was lost in thought, pondering the theory that Charlie had explained to him, the 'what-ifs' cycling endlessly though his mind. He was still quietly reeling over the fact that any of this was even happening, that on the other side of the screen, at the end of the 'invisible bridge', Dean was still alive, not having yet met the fate that, however undeserved, still awaited him. He recalled Missouri's words at the funeral, “ You _**can**_ save him, this time you _**will**_.” The use of the words, “ _this time_ ,” stumped him; was she saying he'd tried before and failed? It was a chilling and absolutely mind-blowing thought. If only she was right and that statement were true, if there was any way he could change the past, well then, he had to at least try. Dean was worth it.

 

“Alright people, let's get this shitshow on the road!” Ash hollered, waving the rest of them along behind him. Using his keycard, he accessed the door that they had entered the lab through and led them down a short corridor that opened up into the main warehouse area, which was no longer milling with people. Ash walked straight to the fenced in area that contained the hollow metal apparatus that Castiel recalled seeing earlier when he and Sam had first arrived. Ash made use of his keycard once more to buzz them past the security gates.

 

“You know, it would have been a lot faster if you'd just written the note yourself,” Sam remarked grumpily to Cas as they followed after Ash.

 

“Right. Then I recognize my own handwriting and the universe blows up,” Castiel retorted, suppressing the strong urge he felt to stick his tongue out at Sam or to maybe just smack him upside the head. But someone here had to be the adult, might as well be him.

 

“I still think this is all a bad idea,” Sam groused. “If Bobby finds out what we're doing, he'll tan my hide. I could lose my career over all this if we're not careful.”

 

Castiel chose not to comment. At this point in time, he was of the mind that there were more important things at stake than careers. Things like innocent people's lives. If there was something he could do to alter the course of the timeline, to him, it was worth any cost, career be damned. He'd gladly throw his career away if it meant that Dean lived.

 

Ash hefted open the large door that reminded Castiel of bank vault door and moved aside so Kevin could dart in to pull out a metal tray with two odd, glass slabs sitting parallel to one another, sort of like a clamp. Cas watched avidly as Kevin placed the piece of paper between the two glass slabs and cranked a small handle that pressed the two thick panes of glass together, almost like a vise. The glass magnified the note, making it easy to read what Sam had written.

 

_'Terror suspect surveilling Algiers Ferry Dock, will be there at 4:40am. Advise extreme caution!'_

 

Kevin adjusted it to his satisfaction, then flicked a couple switches into the 'on' position at the side of the tray; it all seemed rather anti-climactic, considering the enormity of what they were about to do. After securing the note in the tray, Kevin pushed the whole thing back inside what Castiel was mentally calling 'the bank vault', and together he and Ash slammed the heavy door shut.

 

As if afraid of being caught, which probably wasn't far off from the truth, they all high-tailed it back to the lab, where Charlie and Kevin immediately got to work setting up the program for the experiment they intended to carry out, ill-advised though it may be and certainly, most likely grounds enough to get them all fired or worse.

 

After fifteen minutes or so, which Cas, Sam and Ash all spent pacing, which grew difficult in the limited space, Charlie, and not a moment too soon, thankfully, announced that they were ready.

 

“Okay, Kevin, third floor, southwest corner, that's where we are,” Castiel directed.

 

Kevin swirled the joysticks, neatly piloting the live-stream into circling the building til it reached the southwest corner and then passed through the structure, which still looked like a holographic representation of a blueprint, not having solidified yet, but quickly the view rendered, blank spaces filling in, showing all the trappings of a typical office. There were several heat signatures drifting around, signifying the few people working late, two of which were Castiel and his partner, Gabriel, which quickly became apparent as the live-stream focused.

 

The audio came in faster than the visual, and to Castiel's chagrin, he could hear the argument he had, until now, forgotten had taken place between the two of them. Unfortunately, as it happened, this had ended up being the last conversation he'd ever had with Gabriel, not that he knew it then, as it was unfolding. With the knowledge now, that almost certainly Gabriel was dead, Castiel felt even worse, aware that their last exchange had been fraught with sharp words and short tempers.

 

“How'd you get that information?” Abruptly, Gabriel's voice filled the room, causing Castiel's heart to lurch in pained recognition and sorrow.

 

“...it's just good police work.” It was strange to hear his own voice, disembodied as it was.

 

“I don't wanna play games with you here. There are protocols that need to be followed or else you blow the whole damn case, Cas!” Gabriel retorted, suddenly coming into view as the live-stream focused into a fluid shot, showing Castiel and Gabriel at their respective desks, looking tired and pissy. Castiel still wore the clothes from his undercover operation, not having had the time to stop back home yet and change into something else, while Gabriel was dressed in one of his favorite, loud Hawaiian shirts with a backwards ATF cap sitting lopsidedly on his too-long sandy brown hair.

 

“I'm not playing games,” Castiel sounded as pissy as he looked, and viscerally, he was drawn back to how tired and underappreciated he had felt that night, fresh off two months of living and breathing his undercover role, only to have Gabriel nitpicking him over a few seemingly inconsequential details.

 

“Yeah, you are. Normally, I wouldn't give a shit, Cas, y'know, the ends justify the means and whatnot, but this one has to be done by the book, no exceptions. You know as well as I do that we've been trying to crack this drug ring for over two years now and I'm not gonna let it all slip through our fingers because we didn't take the time to cross our t's and dot our i's, dammit!” Castiel could see and hear now how weary Gabe was and he realized then, that Gabe had only been trying to help him, yet, he'd heard it merely as unnecessary criticism.

 

“Jesus, Gabe! I know how to do my fucking job!” Castiel winced at how snappy he sounded, watching his own face contort into a dark scowl.

 

“Alright, let's find a nice, happy place to push the note onto,” Ash encouraged. The others seemed to be doing their best to ignore the argument happening up on the viewer screen, which Cas greatly appreciated.

 

“How about my desk?” Castiel suggested.

 

“Okay, Kevin, line us up!”

 

Kevin took a deep breath, then with one hand on a joystick, he used the other to press some buttons on his console before slowly pushing forward two different levers, using the joystick to position where the note would be placed, if it indeed went through as Castiel desperately hoped it would.

 

“...When I peg a guy on a hunch, that's good police work, not some conspiracy to keep you out of the loop, alright? If I had waited and called you in for backup, I would have missed my chance.” Castiel watched as the tension seemed to roll off the two of them, Gabriel rolling his eyes in disbelief and exasperation, while Castiel earnestly tried to justify his actions.

 

The live feed panned away from their faces, drifting over the desk, Kevin stopping when he found a blank space at the edge of Castiel's desk.

 

“Here looks good,” Kevin pronounced.

 

“Okay, kids, let's start pushing!” Ash commanded. “Expand the wave past the note.”

 

Focused as he was on where the note would appear if it went through, Cas tried to filter out Gabe's voice, but his own memory supplied the words anyways, taunting him.

 

“I can't watch your back if you're holding out on me, Cas...” Gabe tried to reason with him.

 

On one of the adjacent screens, there was a live-stream of the inside of the vault, which lit up with eerie green light as the note, held securely between the two slabs of magnifying glass, was scanned repeatedly by the wave of neon emerald light.

 

Just then, a worrying thought occurred to Castiel and he spoke up. “If my memory serves me right, we'd better hurry up, because I think I'm about to leave.”

 

“I need more cowbell!” Ash hollered, rushing to Kevin's side to peer over his shoulder.

 

“I'm trying!” Kevin groused, looking harried.

 

The wave of green energy continued to scan the note and a high-pitched, shrill ringing noise filled the air.

 

“Prepare for the final power surge!” Ash warned.

 

Almost in a daze, Castiel watched on the viewer screen as his past self stood up in a huff, grabbing his gear jerkily. Experiencing a stomach-turning sense of déja vu, he mouthed his last words to Gabe, even as he heard himself say them in the past.

 

“Have a nice vacation!” Castiel threw over his shoulder snidely, as he headed for the door.

 

“Alright, Kev, go, go, go!!” Ash looked nearly crazed with adrenaline and Castiel felt the same; Sam and Charlie looked to be on the edge of their seats as well, all eyes glued to the screen showing the note.

 

With a determined set to his face, Kevin pushed the two power level switches as far as they would go, the lights overhead flickering wildly even as the note disappeared in a blaze of greenish-white light.

 

As Past Castiel reached the door of the office to leave, the note slowly started to materialize on the surface of his desk, first as a bluish-green heat signature, before solidifying into the real, live piece of paper they were familiar with, looking as though it had been on Cas' desk all along. Gabriel didn't seem to notice it as he stood up tiredly, halfheartedly kicking at his chair, throwing a frustrated glance at Castiel's retreating back.

 

Castiel stared in amazement. He couldn't believe his eyes! Had they really managed to send the warning back in time?

 

“YES!!” Ash whooped, even as the entire room went pitch black. Ten seconds passed in darkness and stunned silence, before computer alarms started chiming frantically and all the screens flickered distortedly, random snippets of audio and static cutting in and out, the sharp wail of feedback making them all recoil.

 

“Holy shit! What happened? Did it go through?”

 

“I don't know, I think so!”

 

“Oh, fuck. _Fuck_! Doesn't matter, Kev, pull it back! Pull the goddamn wave back!”

 

Scrambling to obey, Kevin fiddled with switches and levers in the dark futilely, the whine of power decreasing unexpectedly with a loud popping hiss, causing the whole room to black out once more.

 

Castiel stayed put, too bewildered to move, and gradually everything came back to life, and presently the fuzzy, fractured images on the viewer screen resolved back into a cohesive, fluid stream. And there, on the edge of Castiel's desk, was the note.

 

For a moment, it was so quiet, Castiel was sure he could probably hear a pin drop, but then the room erupted in cheering, Ash whooping again like a wild man.

 

“It's through, we did it!!! This is great!” Charlie and Kevin were grinning and high-fiving.

 

“It worked, I can't believe it!” Sam looked dumbfounded.

 

“There it is,” Castiel whispered, stunned beyond belief. But then the unfortunate truth of the situation occurred to him, and regretfully he turned to the others. “No, wait a minute, hang on, guys. It's not great yet...I—I don't come back.”

 

“Wait, what?” Sam stared at him in dismay. They all eyed Castiel uneasily and he shook his head.

 

They all turned back to the viewer screen. Gabe was stapling some papers together and after a few seconds he got up and moved over to Castiel's abandoned desk, gathering up the paperwork there as well, adding it to the file in his hand. He rummaged through the top drawer, rooting around until he came up with a rubber band which he used to secure the thick bundle of paper, setting it back down on Cas' desk with a thump. As he went back to his own desk, the note on the edge of the desk caught his eye, and he gingerly picked it up, his hazel eyes widening as they roved over it. Quickly, he checked his watch, then hurried over to his own desk, snatching up his things.

 

“Oh god...no, no Gabe, put it down, I'm not coming back!” Castiel murmured, a dawning sense of disquiet coming over him. “Don't do it, Gabe, please.”

 

Gabriel was out the door in a flash.

 

“Dammit, Gabe!”

 

“Follow him,” Ash called out to Kevin who immediately re-positioned them on the viewer screen, pivoting until they were outside the building once more, just in time to watch Gabe jump into his orange Mustang convertible, peeling out of the parking lot.

 

Castiel's mind raced as they followed Gabriel down the freeway. Well, this solved the mystery of how Gabe's car had ended up at the Algier's Ferry parking bay. With a terrible feeling of dread, he was sure they were about to see what had really happened to his partner. It hit him like a freight train; this was all his fault. If he hadn't insisted they send the note through, Gabriel would never have seen it and never driven to the ferry. He had inadvertently sent one of his closest friends to his demise.

 

Shaking his head in distress, he turned away from the screen, he couldn't bear to watch Gabe drive, unaware, to his untimely death. Clearing his throat, he spoke up. “Alright, let's um..let's cut away from Gabriel. The bomber is on his way to the dock. He's due there any minute. We'll come back to...to Gabe when he gets there, okay?”

 

He avoided the gazes of the others, who were all eyeing him with sympathetic looks, and wordlessly they did as he asked.

 

It started to rain as they zeroed in on the dock, which was devoid of people.

 

“C'mon, assbutt, where are you?” Castiel muttered, on the lookout for any sign of life. “Can we circle it?”

 

Kevin rotated the joysticks, doing a complete 360 circuit around the whole area.

 

“We should be able to see him by now, shouldn't we? Sam asked, checking the time-code on the viewer screen. It was 4:37am now, but there was no one in sight.

 

The moments passed, no one speaking, all eyes glued to the viewer screen.

 

Presently, Kevin did another lap around the area, and there, stalking through the shadows, they saw him.

 

“That's him! There he is!” Castiel burst out.

 

“Holy shit,” Sam breathed.

 

“Move in on him as close as you can, I want to see his face.”

 

Kevin zoomed in until the image of the man took up the whole viewer screen. It was a black man with close cropped hair and a neatly trimmed goatee, wearing blue jeans and a dark windbreaker, carrying the same bag as they had seen earlier on the surveillance footage.

 

“That's him, alright,” Castiel confirmed, positive that it was the same man from Dean's funeral who had been lurking around. The man was striding purposefully through the rain, tightly gripping the strap of his bag as he headed for his destination.

 

“That's our guy. At the bridge, the cemetery, the phone booth, that's him. Charlie, see if you can get an ID, facial ID on him,” Castiel instructed, nearly on the edge of his seat with anticipation.

 

“I'm on it, give me some time, but I'll get him,” Charlie promised, already fast at work running the facial recognition software on their suspect, whose face was perfectly clear and easy to see up on the viewer screen, ensuring a good chance of a 100% facial match.

 

The mystery man, who definitely was heading for the parking lot now, where they could now see a lone car parked, got there just as Gabriel's bright orange Mustang finally pulled in. The man glanced behind him, tensing up as he saw the incoming car.

 

The man continued walking towards his vehicle, an old, beat up black and white Blazer, ignoring the other car.

 

“Try to move in on his car, see if we can get a plate,” Ash urged. Kevin zoomed in on it, but the Blazer was plateless in front and the tags in back were obscured by mud.

 

“Alright, no plates, get back on him,” Castiel directed, unwilling to let the man out of his sight. The live-stream pulled back from the car and honed in on the man, following him until he eventually reached the Blazer. Gabriel was hanging back, it seemed, observing the suspect. Castiel prayed to a God he didn't believe in, that his partner and friend would just stay in his vehicle and not approach the suspect.

 

“Where's Gabriel?” Sam wondered aloud, even as while the man was climbing his car and starting it up, Gabriel swiftly approached, gun in one hand, badge in the other, shouting, “Federal agent! Turn off the engine and step away from the vehicle with your hands in the air!”

 

The rain was coming down now, harder than ever and Gabriel was determinedly pointing his gun at the man through his rolled up window, bellowing for him to come out. The man stared back at Gabe, before slowly unwinding the window halfway down. Once more, Gabriel demanded he exited the vehicle. Then, without warning, gunfire lit up the night like lightning, as three shots were fired from close range.

 

Gabriel went down hard on the wet asphalt, unable to even get off a shot in return. Castiel watched in horror as his friend and partner sprawled lifelessly on the ground. He heard sniffling off to his left, and glanced over to see Charlie quietly sobbing with her hands tightly clamped over her mouth. Kevin looked on the verge of tears too and huddled next to Charlie, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders. At his side, Sam and Ash stared at the screen in shock.

 

The man quickly jumped out of the Blazer and proceeded to callously drag Gabriel by the arm around to the back of the vehicle, dumping him in a heap before opening the trunk hatch to rummage around inside.

 

Feeling sick to his stomach, Castiel suddenly noticed something. “Tilt down and zoom in on Gabe,” he croaked out hoarsely.

 

Kevin did so and all of them stared for a few seconds before they all saw what Cas had seen.

 

By some miracle, Gabriel was still breathing, shallowly, but breathing nonetheless.

 

“Oh my god...he's still alive!” Castiel choked out, tears welling up in his eyes.

 

They watched in apprehension as the man hefted Gabriel up in his arms and stuffed him unceremoniously into the back of the Blazer, slamming the trunk shut behind him before clambering into the driver's seat once more.

 

Cranking the engine, the man peeled out of the parking lot, disappearing into the darkness.

 

“What can we do?” Castiel asked of the room at large, his voice rough with unshed tears.

 

“I—I don't know what to do,” Sam murmured from beside him, setting his hand on Castiel's shoulder in support.

 

Kevin hastily twirled the joysticks, pulling them up, giving a birds-eye view of the area, before locking onto the lone car traveling down an empty side street. Further inspection confirmed that it was their bomber in the Blazer.

 

“He's heading east. If he keeps going that way, he's going to move out of our range,” Ash reported.

 

“What can we do? Anything?” Castiel pleaded, feeling so goddamned helpless he couldn't stand it.

 

“I don't know, but if we don't do something fast, I'm gonna lose this guy here,” Kevin warned.

 

Already the viewer screen was flickering, static going in and out as the satellite signal struggled to keep the connection. ' _Lens Adjusting_ ' and ' _Weak Signal_ ' kept flashing at intervals across the screen.

 

“We're losing the signal,” Charlie said, still sounding shaky, rubbing her sleeve over her face to scrub away her tears.

 

“We have to boost it somehow then!” Ash had gone back to pacing around the room. “We need to chase him with the goggle rig.”

 

“Yeah, well, Kevin is a little busy right now and he's the only one who knows how to use it,” Charlie retorted.

 

“Where is it?” Castiel asked, perking up as the solution presented itself.

 

“What, the rig? It's in the Hummer, out in the warehouse, why?”

 

Wordlessly, Castiel jumped up, grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “Keys in there?”

 

“Yeah, but--”

 

Castiel ignored them all and ran out of the lab, jogging into the warehouse. He bee-lined towards the weirdly outfitted Hummer he had seen when he first arrived. Trying the door, he found it unlocked and quickly climbed inside. Flipping down the sun visor, the keys dropped into his lap like a gift and he started the engine.

 

Looking down to the seat beside him, he recognized the goggle rig he'd seen before on Charlie's computer. It looked basically like a clunky football helmet, but instead of a face-guard, there were a pair of squarish goggles mounted at eye-level. Picking it up, he hung it on a large hook attached to the ceiling and flicked the on switch into position at the side; there was a crackling, static noise as the device turned on.

 

Affixing his seatbelt, he drove out of the warehouse at high speed, past the guarded checkpoint and hit the highway, pulling out his cellphone and dialing Sam as he went through a short tunnel. It was almost a shock to find that it was broad daylight, while back in the lab, in the past, it was still dark out, pouring rain, sunrise yet an hour or so away.

 

In the lab, Sam immediately picked up and put Cas on speakerphone. “Quiet, you guys, it's Cas!”

 

“Where is he now?” Castiel demanded.

 

“East! He's heading east, going up on De Gaulle!” Kevin and Charlie called out excitedly.

 

“Got it. Just try to keep him in sight and keep feeding me directions,” Cas instructed. “I'll try and track him with the goggle rig here. Will that work?”

 

“Yeah, if you can catch up to the image and keep him in sight, it should work,” Ash assured him.

 

Cas headed east up De Gaulle, as per their instructions, driving with one hand, while he fiddled with the goggle rig.

 

“Hey, how does this thing work?”

 

“It's really simple, wherever you look, the eyepiece will auto-focus, and we'll see what you see, back in the lab here,” Charlie explained.

 

“Should I put it on?”

 

“That would be the most optimal way, but it can be dangerous while you're driving,” Kevin cautioned.

 

This might be their only chance, so Cas threw caution to the wind, and grappling one-handed, managed to fit the goggle rig onto his head, adjusting the mouthpiece at the side so he could communicate with the others.

 

Back in the lab, up on the viewer screen, the signal strengthened a bit and the live-stream focused, showing them a dark, rainy night.

 

“Okay, you're live, you're on!” Sam and Ash cheered.

 

“Alright, where's he headed?” Cas barked.

 

“He's going towards I-10,” Charlie told him.

 

“East or west?” Castiel pulled the goggles down over his eyes in time to see the same dark, rainy night that everyone back in the lab was seeing, only to find that in this timeline, he was going against traffic.

 

“Oh shit!” Cas swerved to avoid the oncoming traffic he could see in the goggles, but in real time, he slammed the Hummer up against the side of the concrete barrier of the bridge he was currently on with a jarring thud.

 

“What happened? We're losing the signal!”

 

“We're not sure where he's going! We're blind in here, Cas! What's going on?”

 

Everyone back at the lab yelling in his ear didn't help in the slightest, so he ignored them for a moment, adjusting the rig and the goggle eyepiece, so that only eye was looking through the goggles, allowing him to keep his other eye on the road.

 

“It's fine, everything's fine!” Cas reassured them. “Okay, have you got eyes on him now? Is he still heading east?”

 

“Cas, keep looking straight ahead, we've got the viewer screen slaved to your goggles, we are seeing what you're seeing, four days in the past!” Sam sounded especially hyper.

 

“I got him! I'm locked on him, he's back in range,” Charlie shrieked. “He's going west now, not east, west! Going west on the Crescent City Bridge!”

 

Trying to keep an eye on the road in broad daylight he was actually driving down, instead of the rainy night the goggles were showing him, was difficult, but Cas did his best, driving faster than he knew was safe, veering around the slower cars ahead of him as he tore down the highway, trying to increase the range of the live-stream so that they could catch up to their killer.

 

“There he is! That's him! He's in the opposite lane!” Ash yelled, following it up with a loud belch, which Castiel chuckled at, knowing Ash was probably downing another Red Bull.

 

Peering through the one eyepiece of the goggles, Cas turned his head, looking left, and caught sight of the bomber in his beat up Blazer, going in the opposite direction, away from him, out of range.

 

“Alright, I got him!” Realizing he'd have to turn back if he wanted to catch the Blazer, Cas slammed on the brakes and pulled a U-turn right in the middle of the highway, accidentally side-swiping a red Mazda that was unable to get out of his way in time. A blue and white Ford pick-up slammed into the Mazda and before he knew it, Castiel had caused a five-car pile up. Gunning the engine, he guided the Hummer carefully through the crashed cars and angry motorists.

 

“What was that?!”

 

“I think he hit something!”

 

“Cas, is everything ok? You've gotta stay with the guy or you're gonna lose him again,” Charlie pleaded but Cas didn't answer, as he was too busy driving back up the way he came, into oncoming traffic.

 

The incessant honking of car horns filled the air, but he ignored it, glancing back and forth between the oncoming traffic he was driving through and the rainy night in the goggles, where he could clearly see the Blazer on the other side of the concrete barrier, heading the same way he was.

 

“I see him, can you guys see him?” Cas shouted.

 

“Alright, alright, calm down, we see him, now stay with him, dude.” Sam placated.

 

“Okay, I'm on it. Oh, and send an ambulance to the Crescent City Bridge!” Cas panted, dodging honking cars and trying to keep an eye on the Blazer, which he was fast losing sight of, the other car turning off to the right.

 

“Shit! I knew he hit something!” Cas heard Sam mutter.

 

“Oh fuck,” Cas growled out. “I think I lost him!” Silence met him as the others frantically searched for the Blazer, but it was Cas who finally saw him once more, putting on some speed to catch up.

 

However, before he could tell the others, Charlie apparently had eyes on him too, and came to Cas' aid. “I got him, Cas! He's headed west for the 10 to the Bayou!”

 

Hooking a sharp right and pressing his foot down as hard as he could on the gas pedal, Cas sped up until he was neck and neck with the Blazer, only inches away from the other car.

 

The bomber glanced over and suddenly, they were eye to eye, and Cas was staring straight into the face of the man who had killed Gabe and Dean. Time seemed to slow down and even though Cas knew he was invisible to the other man, he couldn't help but feel like they were boring holes into each others souls. The rain was cascading down, windshield wipers pushing back and forth across the glass, and still Cas gazed into the impassive face of this fragile human, who fancied himself a god, holding in his hands the power over life and death.

 

The yellow lights from passing cars and the streetlamps overhead washed the man's dark featured face in a golden glow. He looked ordinary, nothing special, dark eyes under thick eyebrows, straight nose and a well-shaped mouth framed by a neat goatee. Under any other circumstances, Cas might have thought him handsome.

 

“I can see him, he's right in front of me,” Cas whispered breathlessly.

 

Back in the lab, the man's face filled up the viewer screen, all of them staring in wide-eyed scrutiny, face to face with the killer. Unfortunately, it meant neither Cas nor the others were paying any attention to oncoming traffic and Cas glanced away from the goggles, alerted by the loud braying of an air horn, just in time to see the orange semi hitting him in a head-on collision.

 

The impact flipped the Hummer around, smashing the front end and the windshield, shoving it across four lanes of traffic, sending it skidding into the concrete barrier. If it weren't for his seatbelt, Cas would have been flung about inside like a ragdoll, but the belt kept him strapped in, though badly shaken.

 

The goggle rig saved him from a grievous head injury as well, shielding him when his head collided first with the steering wheel, earning him a bloody and possibly broken nose, and then again with the driver's side window. His neck hurt terribly from the whiplash, but all in all, he was still in one piece, and that was more than enough to be moving on with.

 

Somewhat dazed, it took a moment for everyone's voices to filter back in, but they were all yelling, calling to him, asking if he was alright.

 

“What the fuck happened??”

 

“Cas, are you alright? Answer us!”

 

“I think he hit something else, or something big hit him!”

 

But Cas had bigger problems. Peering through the eyepiece of the goggle rig, he saw nothing but static.

 

“Shit. Ughhh...I'm fine, but guys? I think it's broken, I can't see anything out of the goggle rig!” Cas told them.

 

“Uhh...we still have a signal here, you're still transmitting, dude!” Ash informed him.

 

“You can see?”

 

“We'll talk you through it,” Sam assured. “Can you still drive?”

 

Cas took off the malfunctioning goggle rig, noticing now that the glass lenses of the goggles were cracked and splintered, probably from when his head had smashed into the steering wheel, the goggles taking the brunt of the damage. The Hummer had stalled out, but at least he was out of the way of oncoming traffic for the moment.

 

Squeezing his eyes shut tight and sending up a prayer, he turned the key. The engine sputtered, trying to catch. He stopped, waited a moment and tried again and this time he was rewarded with the sound of the vehicle coughing weakly to life.

 

Staunching the blood dribbling out of his nose with his sleeve, Cas grinned in relief and answered Sam.

 

“Yeah, yeah I can make it work. Where is he now?”

 

“Give us a 360 with the goggle rig,” Kevin suggested.

 

Cas did as Kevin asked, slowly panning the unwieldy goggle rig in a circle around him, til the chorus of voices stopped him.

 

“There! Stop right there! There he is!”

 

“Pan the rig around!”

 

“Which way?” Cas barked.

 

“To your right!” Charlie sang out. “He's on the road to the Bayou, to your right, Cas!”

 

Cas glanced to his right from his parked position. Up on the overpass, there were signs for Claiborne Avenue and the Bayou Boeuf, two exits heading west, right where he needed to go. Unfortunately, both were blocked off by the orange semi that had hit him and the ensuing pile-up of cars that had swerved to avoid both Cas' Hummer and the semi truck.

 

“Fuck. The road is blocked,” Cas reported back to the lab. He thought quickly, remembering that there was another exit that lead to the Bayou. “I think if I take the expressway, I can catch up to him, it parallels the road.”

 

“Alright, do it, go, go go!” They all screeched anxiously, just as desperate as he was not to lose this guy.

 

Gunning the engine, Cas pulled back onto the road, veering past all the stopped cars, heading for the farthest exit that lead onto the expressway.

 

“You'd better send another couple of ambulances out here,” Cas advised, barreling along the expressway, gamely trying to see out through the web of splintered glass that was his windshield. At least he wasn't driving into oncoming traffic anymore, that made things a lot easier.

 

“Can you still see him?' Cas yelled to the others.

 

“Pan right, pan to your right, dude!” Ash hollered. Castiel did so, driving one-handed while pointing the rig off to his right, hoping they'd catch sight of the Blazer.

 

“Got him! He's at the end of the bridge, keep going, Cas, you hear me?” Charlie asked.

 

“Yeah, I hear you, Charlie, I'm going.”

 

Downshifting, Cas sped up, weaving through the slower cars. It was quiet on the other end for a few moments, and Cas grew a bit anxious. “Keep talking to me, you guys!”

 

“Uhh, I don't know what else to tell you, I feel very, very close to you right now,” Ash teased cheekily.

 

Cas rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smirking. Ash's snarky sense of humor reminded him of how Gabe and Balthazar liked to pester him and the easy camaraderie helped ground him in the middle of all this chaos.

 

Presently, Charlie spoke up again. “He's taking the exit ramp beneath you, so take the next off-ramp!”

 

The off-ramp in question came up quickly and Cas jerked the wheel off to the right, piloting the Hummer down the exit.

 

“Go right, then double back on yourself,” Charlie continued to direct him.

 

Castiel complied, the tires squealing as he took the turn a bit sharp, going at break-neck speed.

 

“Alright, hang another right!”

 

The right turn in question led off the highway and onto an old dirt road, and Cas headed down it, sandy dirt spraying out from the thick tire treads of the Hummer.

 

Directing the goggle rig with one hand, Cas called out, “Still see him?” Hoping they were still on the right track.

 

“Yup, he's about a quarter mile ahead of you, still going towards the Bayou. Alright, now take a left here!” Ash was calling out the directions now.

 

Cas came up on another dirt road off to his left and turned the wheel accordingly, skidding a bit as he took a hard left. Plumes of yellow dust billowed up around him as he blazed down the dirt track, thick forest and underbrush on either side of him.

 

“Take it easy, Cas, he's dead ahead of you,” Charlie warned. “He's slowing down now, coming up to a gated fence, do you see it?”

 

About a thousand feet or so ahead, there was indeed a fence, slightly overgrown with hedges and brambles and Cas approached cautiously, looking about for any signs of life. Parking the Hummer off to the side at a safe distance, partially hiding it behind a low-hanging sweep of Spanish moss, Cas opened his door and gingerly climbed out, wincing in pain. Nothing seemed broken, but he was going to be bruised and sore for days.

 

Cas made sure his service weapon was secure at his hip, checking his ankle holster as well.

 

Kevin spoke up. “Hey Cas, if you're gonna leave the Hummer, take the backpack in the back seat, it's a power source for the goggle rig. There should be a red cable coming out of the back, plug that into the socket at the side of the goggle rig, by the on/off switch.”

 

Cas opened the back door of the Hummer and pulled out the black backpack, hefting it up onto his shoulders; the red cable trailed out a few feet and he snagged it up between his fingers, plugging it into the rig as Kevin had told him. Since the goggles were cracked, Cas didn't bother putting the helmet on, instead he just held it in his left hand, panning it around and drew his service pistol with his right.

 

Taking a deep breath, he walked towards the gate. “Can you guys hear me?”

 

“Yeah, we hear you Cas, loud and clear,” Sam affirmed.

 

“What's it look like on your end there?”

 

“Uhh, still raining, he's unlocked the gate and driven through, locking it back up behind him. You?”

 

“The fence and gate are all busted out like someone drove through them and I can see smoke. It's pretty quiet though, no signs of life so far. I'm going in to check it out,” Cas announced.

 

“Okay, be careful, dude.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo....thoughts?? I know it might seem like an abrupt end or an odd point to end the chapter, but it was getting so long that I had to break it in half somewhere. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the delay in updating this and my other works, there's just a lot going on lately. Hopefully you enjoy this chapter anyways. Thanks for all the comments and kudos and continued interest in this story, it always cheers me up and brightens my day when I hear from y'all. Warnings in this chapter for canon typical violence, but nothing too graphic, I don't think.

 

Weapon drawn and goggle rig in hand, Cas crept forward, using the underbrush as cover. The closer he got, however, the more he could see that the place was deserted. Along the chain link fence and busted out metal gates were large signs proclaiming, ' _Private Property_ ,' ' _No Trespassing_ ,' and ' _Violators Will Be Shot!_ ' Clearly, whoever lived here very much valued their privacy and was willing to go to great lengths to protect it. People like that usually had something to hide, too, Cas had found.

 

Further in, there were the remains of a ramshackle house that looked as though a bomb had gone off in the middle of it, leaving only the shards of a blackened husk. Scattered around were several shoddily made outhouses and sheds, with farm equipment and other machinery. Weeds and brambles grew tall in every nook and cranny. Cas counted at least two old, rusted out trucks and a fishing boat in different states of disrepair. The burnt, unpleasant stench of metal and plastic and other materials hung heavy in the air. The explosion had happened recently, at least within the last two or three days, but it looked deserted, no sign of law enforcement or even of the fire department, which led Cas to believe that perhaps the rain a couple days ago had been the main cause of extinguishing the ensuing inferno. It was amazing that the entire property hadn't been burned down the the ground. There seemed to be no other neighbors within at least a half mile radius and it was a heavily forested area, very private and unseen from the road, that might explain why it would appear as though no fire or police departments had been alerted to the scene. And if there had been any survivors, they looked to be gone now.

 

“What's he doing now?” Cas asked, panning the rig around for the benefit of the others back in the lab.

 

“He's pulling around the back of the house,” answered Sam.

 

Cas advanced on the remains of the house, weapon held at the ready, still exercising caution, but he was pretty sure now that it was uninhabited. “Looks like a bomb went off here,” he muttered to the others.

 

“Oh wow, really? We see an intact structure here, it's kind of a dump, but it's all in one piece,” Sam confirmed.

 

“No damage at all?” Cas was puzzled.

 

“No, none!”

 

“Looks like there's a vehicle inside. An ambulance. Do you see that?” Cas stepped closer; whatever had happened, the ambulance had ended up flipped over onto its roof, the vehicle itself and the burnt debris of the house still faintly smoking.

 

“Nope, nothing,” Sam proclaimed, sounding as puzzled as Cas felt.

 

Cas walked farther into the wreckage, ducking under charred beams, heading for the back of the house. There was a large back porch, with a couple of rickety lawn chairs and a covered carport with a poured concrete pad. The rear end of the property opened up right onto the bayou, with a long dock stretching out into the muddy river.

 

“See anything now?” Cas questioned, panning the rig around slowly.

 

Cas heard a sharp intake of breath from Charlie before she whispered, “He's dead ahead of you!”

 

“Cas...he's pulling Gabe out of the back of the Blazer,” Sam told him reluctantly.

 

Gritting his teeth, trying to ignore the rage and sorrow coursing through him, Cas barked out, “Boost the audio for me!”

 

He heard the familiar electronic trilling and staticky feedback whine, then Kevin called out, “Audio boosted!”

 

Abruptly, broadcasting from the goggle rig's microphone, Cas could hear the rain hitting the tin roof of the carport, the sound of a sodden body hitting the wet ground with a squelch, and a grunt of exertion, presumably from the bomber dragging his partner around like a sack of potatoes. Bastard. It was so disconcerting to be able to hear what had happened that night, but be unable to see or stop it.

 

Cas bit his lip, feeling tears well up again in his eyes as he panned the goggle rig around for the benefit of the others.

 

“Gabe!” Cas called out, even though he knew his partner couldn't hear him. “Where is he?”

 

“He-he's being dragged onto the concrete under the carport,” came Sam's regretful voice.

 

“Goddammit...Gabriel!!” Cas screamed angrily, spinning around in a slow circle, his voice echoing back uselessly to him in the silence as he searched for the source of the disembodied noises. It didn't matter that all of this had already happened and was beyond his control, he was witnessing it now, even though it was long past and Gabe was beyond his help. He strode furiously over to the concrete pad by the back porch. The carport was mostly wrecked from whatever had happened here, and his horror only grew as he got closer, seeing what appeared to be a large scorch mark where it looked like something...or _someone_ , had been burned...

 

Faintly from the goggle rig he could hear what sounded like liquid being poured on the ground. Realization dawned on him, and frantically he asked Sam, “What's that sound?!”

 

For a moment, no one answered him. “What's that sound, dammit?!”

 

“Jesus, fuck...”Sam finally replied. “He...he's pouring what looks to be some kind of accelerant over Gabriel.”

 

“I think it's the diesel fuel, like at the ferry,” Ash added, sounding subdued.

 

Cas nodded, even though he knew they couldn't see him, his gaze glued to the huge scorch mark on the concrete pad, feeling numb with dread and guilt. How could this have happened?

 

Charlie's sudden sob broke him out of his train of thought. “Oh my god...he's waking up!”

 

From the goggle rig came the faint but distinct sound of a man groaning in pain and Cas knew the horrible truth then. Grimly he warned the others, “Brace yourselves. I think you're about to witness a murder.”

 

Only seconds later, the loud retort of a gunshot was heard, and the pained moans immediately cut off. Cas spared a moment to thank whoever was listening that the killer had been merciful enough to put Gabe out of his misery first, instead of burning him alive. A thought struck him then. Dean's body had been free of gunshot wounds, and the medical examiner had been unsure of the exact cause of death, so did that mean that the burns sustained to his body had occurred while he was still alive? The very idea sent a sick shiver through his whole body.

 

“Oh, shit!” Kevin whimpered. Cas heard the telltale flick of a lighter, followed by the _whoosh_ of the flames igniting, hungrily consuming the diesel drenched corpse of Gabriel Milton. Over the roar of the fire, Castiel could hear Charlie openly crying as he stared at the blackened patch of concrete where his friend and partner had been burned like a pile of garbage, feeling hatred and sorrow warring for dominance in his heart. Back in the lab, the others were mostly quiet, after all, what was there to say?

 

What was he going to tell Balthazar...and Gabriel's girlfriend? His family? He didn't even have a body—Cas' head jerked up at the thought. Where _was_ the body? Scanning the concrete pad, he saw only the large scorch mark, but no bones or other remains, so what had become of his partner's body?

 

Spurred into action, he combed the back porch and surrounding yard, looking for freshly turned earth that might indicate a possible burial of the remains, but there was nothing. As he prowled around and got closer to the long dock that butted out into the river, vicious movement under the dock caught his eye. Running down to the bank of the river, he stumbled upon a trail of drag marks that led down the dock to a trap door located at the end of the structure, the sides of which were strangely fenced in with chicken wire, forming an enclosure.

 

Pounding down the rickety walkway, Cas could hear growling and snapping underneath him, the sound of something large thrashing about in the water and leaning over the side, he saw a flash of spiky tail and long reptilian body. Dropping to his knees by the trap door, he cautiously grasped the frayed rope with one hand, his weapon drawn and ready in his other, lifting it to reveal three alligators which were currently fighting over the blackened remains of what looked to be a human corpse, most likely Gabriel's. Shreds of burnt clothing floated in the fetid water, and aghast, Cas recognized the familiar pattern of the garish Hawaiian shirt that Gabe had favored. One of the gators broke away from its fellows and as the creature rolled over, Cas saw a charred hand clenched tight in its toothy maw. Clamping his own hand over his mouth, he whipped around, turning his back on the horrible sight. He had seen enough.

 

From the goggle rig, Sam's voice came through hesitantly. “Cas?...What's that noise?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Cas tried to calm himself, tried to focus on the task at hand. Holstering his gun and ignoring Sam's question, he cleared his throat and spoke roughly. “We need to get Forensics and CSU out here right now.”

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

A couple hours later, smoke was still drifting lazily through the afternoon sunlight as radio chatter filled the air. Forensic techs and uniformed police all bustled around the taped off scene, gathering evidence and sifting through the charred timbers. Cas was somewhat out of the way, standing by the dock with Sam, who was gazing mournfully around him at the bombed out wreckage. The battery pack on the goggle rig had died earlier, cutting off that form of communication and now they were on Sam's cellphone with Ash, Charlie and Kevin, who were still back at the lab, keeping tabs on Dean and trying to track down their bomber, who they'd lost track of also when the signal on the goggle rig fizzled out.

 

“If we hadn't sent that note, Gabriel wouldn't have gone to the ferry and he wouldn't be dead now,” Sam was arguing agitatedly.

 

“No, he was already dead from the ferry, we just changed how he died,” Charlie pointed out, and although privately Cas disagreed, he kept silent.

 

Sam, however, had no qualms about voicing his conflicting opinion. “We don't know that!” He spat out heatedly, “He could've been standing right next to you, right until we sent that goddamned note! I told you guys it was a bad idea!”

 

“You'd need a branching multiple universe for that to happen!” Charlie retorted.

 

“Oh, c'mon! We can't _change_ anything! We _didn't_ change anything! That's what I've been trying to tell you guys all along,” Ash cut in wearily, sounding fed up with the whole conversation.

 

Cas finally spoke up from beside Sam. “I'll tell you what we did,” he intoned gravely. “The suspect used a stolen Blazer to case the dock. So now he has a vehicle large enough to drive the bomb onto the ferry. But then Gabe showed up, right? The suspect shoots him and in covering up his crime, gets Gabe's blood all over the trunk, so now he needs a new vehicle, you understand? _Dean's_ vehicle. Yeah, we changed one thing, but by changing one thing, we didn't change anything, at least not enough to prevent everything else.”

 

Sam threw him a defeated look and on the line, the others said nothing, just quietly mulling over Cas' synopsis of the situation. Eventually, Sam muttered to the others that they'd return to the lab soon and hung up his cellphone.

 

“I'll meet you at the car,” Cas murmured brusquely to Sam, needing a few moments to himself. Sam nodded wordlessly and departed.

 

What they could find of Gabriel's remains, or more accurately, what they had been able to wrestle away from the voracious gators had already been collected and Cas felt some small sense of relief that he'd have _something_ for his partner's grieving friends and family. It was the very least he could do, seeing as how he'd basically sent Gabe to his death; the others might disagree, but Cas felt a deep-seated weight of guilt and grief that could not be swayed.

 

He wandered back up the river bank to the wreckage. No one paid him much attention as he passed through, and presently he found himself in the burnt out shell of what had probably been the garage, the crashed ambulance having already been towed away. On the ground by a mostly burned chair, something dingy white underneath the caved in roof debris caught his eye and he bent down to retrieve it. It was a singed, formerly white, sock. Cas recognized it as the missing mate to the single sock Dean had been wearing when Cas had examined his body at the coroner's. It only confirmed what he already knew, that Dean had been held captive and most likely killed here as well, his body burned and dumped in the river, just like Gabe. Dazed and lost in though, he stared at it for a moment, before reverently folding it up and tucking it into his jacket pocket for safekeeping.

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

Later, back at the lab, they were stuck playing the waiting game as the computers analyzed millions of faces, trying to find the one that matched their suspect. Cas sat slumped in his chair, a cup of water held loosely in his hand, his mind a million miles away, processing the whole situation. Charlie and Kevin were hard at work at their respective computers, while Sam conferred quietly on the phone with Bobby. On the monitors, an endless stream of news cycled, the ferry bombing still the main topic. The final death count totaled at 543 men, women and children.

 

Up on the viewer screens, Dean was home from work with two armloads of groceries, chattering happily to Sammy while he put away the food. Cas found it painful even just to look at him and hear his voice.

 

Ash was heading out, probably for more Red Bull, when the computers chimed happily and Charlie yelped, “Holy frak! We've got a match!! We got a name!”

 

Cas snapped to attention, leaping up out of his chair and bounding over to Charlie's workstation to peer over her shoulder. “Who is he?”

 

“Gordon Sterling Walker, born April 5th, 1973...everything is here! He's the owner of that property you found, Cas, it's listed here as a bait camp and there's also registrations for a truck and an airboat, it all matches! And hey, there's another property listed, 5874 Mullie Ave., Ninth Ward, New Orleans.

 

Sam, who had ended his phone conversation with Bobby, eagerly darted over to stare at the screen as well, Ash close on his heels. Glancing up, Sam shared a look with Cas.

 

“Alright,” Cas growled out, “Let's go get him!”

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

Cas drove like a man possessed, which meant it only took them twenty-five minutes to reach their destination, with Sam phoning in for back-up along the way. Bobby sent out a full SWAT unit, a helicopter, plus half a dozen local police officers, after all their suspect was considered armed and dangerous, so they were taking no chances.

 

The Ninth Ward was the largest of the seventeen Wards of New Orleans and had also been hit particularly hard by Hurricane Katrina, suffering catastrophic flooding and disastrous damage due to multiple storm surges and severe levee breaks, leaving many of the homes barely standing, or in most cases, destroyed completely. It didn't help that only a month after Katrina hit, the whole area was re-flooded again when yet another storm system, Hurricane Rita this time, struck and wiped the whole area out once more. The reconstruction crews hadn't made much of a dent yet in rebuilding homes out here in the eighteen months or so since the devastation and only the main roads in and out of the Ward were clear, forcing Sam and Cas to dodge around fallen debris as they drove further into the Ward.

 

The alleged residence of Gordon Walker was one of the few that was still mostly intact, though much of the roofing and siding had been stripped away by the gale force winds and flood waters of the hurricanes. Loose shingles, broken boards and other such debris littered the yard and driveway. Cas and Sam hung back as the SWAT team took point and surrounded the house before breaking down the door and swarming inside. It took less than thirty seconds to determine that the structure was clear and that their suspect was in the wind.

 

Cas and Sam quickly gained entrance with the rest of the officers and a search was immediately begun. But it was almost laughably easy to find evidence of the crime. The entire place had suffered major water damage and black mold seemed to dot every surface, yet it was clear that their suspect hadn't really lived there, but instead used the house as his primary workspace to assemble the bomb. A long wooden table was littered with assorted tools and papers listing the ferry schedule and blueprints for the craft itself. There were also leftover bits of the same blue plastic and wiring that had washed up after the bombing scattered all over.

 

Oddly enough, there were also bags of rock salt, sawed off shotguns loaded with salt rounds, plastic bottles of liquid labeled “Holy Water,” crosses and rosaries, silver knives and bullets with pentagrams etched into them and what looked like the trappings of amateur voodoo or witchcraft piled on the shelves, hex bags and goofer dust, along with an impressive amount of lore books pertaining to witches, ghosts, vampires and the like. It wasn't necessarily uncommon to find these items in this part of the country, it was quite the superstitious area, there was a wealth of old wives tales and myths that had circulated for years, having been heavily influenced by the Cajun, Creole and West African cultures that settled in Louisiana generations ago. But it was an unsettling combination to contemplate, a terrorist bomber with occult ties.

 

In amongst the papers, several receipts were found, one for a country store out along the Bayou, a bait shop, another for a hardware store and one for an auto repair shop. It was decided that they would be sent out in pairs to the different locations their suspect had frequented to question the locals as to his whereabouts.

 

Sam and Cas set out, but had no luck at the bait shop, indeed, it was two local NOPD officers who hit pay dirt at the country store, gathering valuable information from the grizzled store owner about their suspect. Things moved almost too quickly to track from there, leading to a SWAT team helicopter and water craft pursuit out on the Mississippi river as their suspect tried to evade the authorities in a high-speed airboat chase. They finally managed to head him off, cornering Walker and forcing him to surrender.

 

Having not been in the right place at the right time, Cas and Sam had been unable to participate in the capture of their suspect, forced to wait at the temporary FBI headquarters near the bomb site with Bobby until the man was brought in. Even though it was the FBI's case technically, Bobby showed how much he trusted and respected Cas by allowing him to take the lead in having the first crack at their suspect. (Not to mention the fact that as a senior agent it was his prerogative to be able to delegate such tasks as cracking tough nuts like Walker to younger agents who had more fire in their bellies.) Sam wasn't thrilled to be hanging back behind the two-way glass with Bobby, just observing, but had conceded that Cas had more practical experience, not to mention over a decade under his belt of interrogating hardened criminals. He also was aware that Cas had a personal stake in this case, thus guaranteeing that he'd do everything in his power to nail Walker to the wall. After all, if it hadn't been for Cas helping them track Walker down in the first place, the bomber might have slipped through their fingers altogether. Cas, for his part, could barely wait to get face-to-face with the man who had caused so much pain and suffering.

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

“Testing, 1, 2, 3, 4. Special Agent Castiel Novak, ATF New Orleans, conducting interview with Gordon Sterling Walker,” Cas spoke into the voice recorder.

 

Cas studied the man across from him. Gordon Walker was perfectly calm, at ease even, though he was sitting with straight-backed military attention in his chair, hands folded neatly in front of him on the metal table despite being handcuffed. He was somewhat disheveled from his encounter with law enforcement, sweaty and dirt-streaked, his grey t-shirt stained, but he was cool as a cucumber and collected, seemingly unruffled by his circumstances, as though he felt he was above the law and beyond the strictures of any human reprobation, as though his was a higher calling.

 

“You have waived your right to counsel, correct?” Cas began.

 

“Yes, sir,” Walker responded politely in the same deep, rich baritone that Cas remembered from the phone conversation with Dean earlier. It felt like a lifetime ago now. The undertone of self-assurance had been replaced by a more soft-spoken, demure demeanor, but Cas felt certain it was merely a front, a practiced con-man running a grift.

 

Cas stared at the man, gathering his thoughts, reviewing his strategy. Walker gazed right back with his dark, unblinking eyes. Cas decided to start out with a little flattery.

 

“I'm fascinated with your precision. It's not very often we see that level of expertise around here, and if it's alright with you, I'd like to use this interview to educate my colleagues in law enforcement.”

 

Walker allowed himself a tiny smile that was more of a smirk, but otherwise was expressionless and only responded respectfully with another, “Yes, sir. As you see fit.”

 

Cas nodded. “Good...good.” Walker might have an ego, but he didn't seem to let it rule him fully. He was going to need to dig a little deeper perhaps to get the man to open up and brag about his prowess. Cas moved from flattery to straightforward questioning.

 

“Let's talk about motive. Why would you use explosives against the U.S. Navy?”

 

“Correction, sir. U.S. Government,” Walker answered softly.

 

“The U.S. Government, hmm?” Cas considered the man for a moment, but Walker merely stared back neutrally, waiting for his next move.

 

Cas glanced down at the small stack of papers that had been amassed pertaining to Walker's history. “It says here that you tried to enlist in the Marines, but you were rejected. You attempted to enlist in the Army, you were rejected again. Why do you think they did that?”

 

Walker gazed off into the middle distance for a few seconds, then returned his dark eyes to Cas, smiling strangely in an expression that he couldn't quite puzzle out. “Because they don't want patriots. The military no longer recognizes commitment and purpose. They thought I was over-committed and psychologically unstable...they didn't want to understand my value.”

 

“Well, I think they understand it now, hmm?” Cas played along, chuckling genially as though he understood Walker's plight, commiserated even, but inside, he was choking down his rage, burning up with the need to get answers to the real questions, hoping that the man couldn't see through his forced camaraderie.

 

However, Walker seemed to take him at face value, and a smile of pure satisfaction lit up his dark countenance. “Yes, sir. I believe so.”

 

“So, it's like the Revolutionary War, huh? 'One man's terrorist is another man's patriot,' isn't that right?”

 

Walker's smile grew wider, as though he believed he'd found a kindred spirit in Cas. “Exactly! You understand. Hey, you're ATF, right?”

 

“Yes, I am,” Cas nodded, unsure of what that had to do with the topic at hand.

 

Walker outright grinned. “Got a smoke?”

 

The last thing Cas wanted to do was give this criminal anything that he asked for, but his rationality helped him keep a cool head, which meant keeping up this farce of friendliness. The more amiable he could keep his interactions, the more Walker might let his tongue loosen up, telling Cas everything he needed to know, and ensuring that Walker would be put behind bars for the rest of his natural life. Bobby, Sam and the others were all counting on him to obtain a confession, so that's exactly what he would do.

 

So, he quirked a grin back at Walker and replied, “No, I don't. But I can get you one.”

 

Walker relaxed his military posture and slouched back in his chair with a pleased smirk. “A man can always use more alcohol, tobacco and firearms.”

 

“I can think of one more thing!” Cas tossed back with a wink over his shoulder as he got up to fetch some cigarettes. Walker's laughter followed him as he left the interrogation room briefly and went into the darkened two-way mirror room on the other side.

 

Sam and Bobby both gazed up at him as he entered, with Sam looking as serious as Cas had ever seen him, while Bobby threw him a half-empty pack of smokes with a grim smile. “Keep that bastard talking.”

 

Cas would make sure he talked. He'd make sure he spilled his fucking guts, until he gave up every last secret that was hiding behind those dark shark eyes.

 

Back in the interrogation room, Walker fired up a cigarette with a sigh of contentment, leaning back in his chair while lazily blowing out a thin stream of smoke, staring at Cas like they were old friends. “You get it, right? This wasn't about revenge.”

 

Cas rolled with it. “What was it about?”

 

Walker exhaled a cloud of smoke through his nose and grinned, showing off straight, white teeth that gleamed against his dark skin. “Destiny,” he whispered almost reverently, his eyes lit with a fanatical revelation that he seemed almost desperate to share with Cas.

 

“Destiny?” Cas echoed encouragingly.

 

“Yes, sir,” Walker bobbed his head. “You wanna know about my motives...my methods.”

 

“Lay it on me,” Cas replied with a conspiratorial smile.

 

Walker held up both arms, showing off the tattoos on his forearms written in graceful, curving script.

 

 _Honor. Courage. Sic Semper Tyrannis._  ' _Thus always to tyrants.'_   There was also a pentagram surrounded by a ring of flames and more Latin words that Cas couldn't quite make out.

 

“My motives, my methods, they're all connected. Everything is connected.”

 

“Okay. How was Dean Winchester connected?”

 

Walker shifted in his seat, causing his ankle cuffs to clank against the floor. “I needed a car.”

 

“That's it?” Cas raised an eyebrow at him, disbelieving.

 

“No, well, yeah, something that couldn't be traced back to me.”

 

“Right.” Cas felt his anger burning brightly just beneath his skin, raging to be unleashed on this monster. He'd snuffed out Dean's life for a goddamned car.

 

Walker snorted, taking a drag off his cigarette. “I had one ready too, til that damn cop showed up.”

 

Cas gritted his teeth and used every ounce of his self-control to rein his temper in. “That _cop_ was a federal agent. My partner, Gabriel Milton. You _shot_ him.”

 

Walker shrugged apologetically. “Hey, man, I'm sorry. He was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. And then he...I was about to burn him and he started waking up, I thought he was dead already, you know? I mean, I'm not cruel. It was the most humane thing I could do at that point, shooting him.”

 

Cas huffed out a mirthless laugh, shaking his head incredulously, finding it ever more difficult to maintain a thin veneer of civility, let alone be affable to this cold-blooded killer who had murdered his partner purely because he'd gotten in his way. “Alright, well, why didn't you do the same for Dean Winchester?”

 

“Oh, well, because I needed him to look like a ferry victim and a bullet would have given it away. I went to his house to steal his car, but he was home, so I pretended I was there to buy it, and when he let me in, I tackled him from behind, taped his mouth and bound his wrists and ankles and threw a hood over his head. He never even saw me. I drove him back to my place out on the Bayou using his Bronco. I loaded the device into his car and then I soaked him in diesel fuel.”

 

“And?” Cas' tone had turned low and dangerous at hearing a blow-by-blow account of how this man had so callously carried out his nefarious plans.

 

Walker smirked at him through a haze of cigarette smoke. “I think you know what happened after that,” he remarked shrewdly.

 

“No, I don't know. I want you to tell me. You gotta talk! I mean, c'mon, _hero_! You say you're a _patriot_ , what happened after that? Don't you want everyone to know? Wasn't that the whole point of this? I can tell you what happened after that. You murdered 543 people. How do you feel about that?” Cas could feel himself fraying at the edges, his cool slipping away, and he hastily tried to reel it back in.

 

However, Walker didn't answer, refused to rise to the bait, just kept taking in long drags from his cigarette, eyeing Cas with a predatory edge.

 

Cas took a deep breath, leaned in, tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes. “I think that you were a murderer right from the beginning,” he whispered.

 

Walker locked eyes with him, leaning in too, the voracious gleam in his eyes brightening. “Sometimes, a little human collateral is the cost of freedom,” he purred back. “To me, those people were war casualties, but to you, they're just evidence. I learned long ago to embrace this life and you know why I love it? It's all black and white, there is no maybe. You find the bad thing, and you kill it. Most people spend their lives in shades of gray, is this right, is that wrong? Not me. I'm fighting a war here. I was born to do this, it's in my blood.”

 

Cas felt his own blood go cold. This conversation had gone sideways on him rather suddenly and he wasn't quite sure what Walker was talking about now, wasn't sure if it was just religious fanatic paranoid delusions with narcissistic undertones or if there was some credence to his crazy talk. “What are you talking about?” He growled.

 

But Walker's smirk only grew wider and he just shook his head, sucking in smoke. “There's a higher power at work here. I'm on a mission from God. His will is clear. He put me here on this earth for one reason, to do his work. So this? Is destiny. You think you know what's coming? You don't have a clue.”

 

Infuriated, Cas fired back at him. “Oh yeah? Well, I know where you're going. And I know you're going to go away for a long time, I'll make sure of it.”

 

Yet, Walker was unmoved, even had the audacity to chuckle smugly at Cas' statement, as if he believed it was an empty threat. “This case will never even go to trial.”

 

“Oh yeah? You don't think so, huh?”

 

Walker shook his head again, clearly enjoying himself. “Nah. 'Cause I've seen what's coming.”

 

Cas bared his teeth at him in a facsimile of a skeptical, but interested, smile. Frankly, he couldn't care less what this insane motherfucker thought, but morbid curiosity urged him on. “Okay, I'll bite. You tell me, what's coming?”

 

Exuding an air of self-righteous satisfaction that had Cas feeling like he was going to choke on it, Walker answered him.

 

“I told you, I have a _destiny_. A _purpose_. Satan reasons like a man, but God thinks of eternity. Well, I have prostrated myself before a world that's going to hell in a handbag, tried to help them see things God's way. I realized, I'd have to make a pretty big splash to get them to notice, because in all eternity, I am here and I will be remembered. That's destiny. That's _my_ destiny.”

 

The man paused, taking another deep drag off his cigarette before stubbing the butt out on the metal table before him and Cas just stared at him, silently seething.

 

“A bomb has a destiny, a predetermined fate set by the hand of its creator. And anyone who tries to alter that destiny will be destroyed. Anyone who tries to stop it from happening will cause it to happen. And that's what you don't seem to understand...”

 

Cas froze up, Walker's words echoing through his head. It was almost as if he knew what they'd been doing. Spying on the past. But he couldn't know, could he? Ever since the explosion, ever since Sam approached him and he had first seen what the program could do and had realized what it truly was, they had been trying to change the past, to alter events which had already come to pass. And what had they really accomplished? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. He'd gotten his partner killed and then sent the murderer off to claim his next victim, in the form of Dean. He hadn't changed anything, at least not for the better. The more he kept trying, the worse he made things. Was he heading for his own destruction? The destruction of all of them? Of this version of them?

 

Walker leaned in til he was almost looming nose-to-nose with Cas, a shark-like grin exposing nearly all of his sharp, white teeth in a terrifying rictus. “We're not here to co-exist. I'm here to win. So you'd better have some divine intervention on your side, my friend. You're gonna need it.”

 

Cas drew back slowly, not responding to the threat and proceeded to gather up his papers and the voice recorder before rising and walking to the door. When he reached it, he paused and glanced back at Walker, who was watching him steadily.

 

His brain was buzzing like an overactive beehive, but Cas betrayed none of that on the surface, instead flashing a disarming smile at Walker. “Hey, Gordon? Where you're going? When you drop the soap in the shower, you better have some K-Y jelly, my friend. You're gonna need it.”

 

Walker scowled darkly, but Cas was out the door, slamming it shut firmly behind him.

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what didja think? Oh, just a few story notes: I rewatched the episodes that Gordon Walker appeared in back in seasons 2 and 3 for inspiration and to get a better feel for his character, especially 2x03 Bloodlust and 3x03 Bad Day at Black Rock, so a lot of Gordon's dialogue was borrowed from his conversations with Dean and I mixed in a little bit of Kubrick's religious fanaticism just for fun. Plus, as a nod to Sterling K. Brown, who did such an excellent job of playing Gordon, I used his first name as Gordon's middle name and also his b-day of April 5th. Also, I'm leaving it kinda open-ended as to whether or not supernatural creatures exist in this verse, Gordon seems to think they do, but maybe he's just crazy ^_~  
> And as always, comments, kudos and reccs are deeply loved and appreciated, even if I am awful at replying back to everyone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap! This beast is over 10k and fought me all the way! But here it is, and I apologize for any typos, I wrote and edited most of this on heavy pain medication (I had surgery on my shoulder, which means I also typed a lot of this one handed LOL) so I hope the whole thing came out alright. There's a lot of action, and action scenes are not my strong suit, as I've said before, but if something doesn't make sense or you need clarification, drop me a comment and I'll get it fixed. Although, this is a time-travel fic, so do try a little to suspend your disbelief and don't think about the time-travel plot too hard or else you get a headache and start doubting your own brain, I know this from experience LOL ^_~ Thanks for all the kudos and kind comments, you guys make my day! Enjoy the chapter!

When Cas opened the door to the two-way mirror room and came inside, Bobby and Sam were already in the middle of what looked to be a serious disagreement, to put it lightly.

 

“What am I supposed to do?--” Bobby ground out, cutting off whatever he was about to say next when he saw Cas enter. 

 

No one said anything for a moment and then abruptly Bobby grunted, “We're shutting it down.”

 

“What?” Sam and Cas spoke in unison.

 

“We're shutting it down and that's final. We got what we needed. The forensics, the suspect, a confession. We're done.”

 

Sam looked pissed and turned to Cas to back him up. “Cas, don't you agree that we should continue on and watch the actual crime?” 

 

Cas nodded slowly. “He's right, sir. I mean, we can't just go on the confession alone. We need an airtight case, we need to collect more evidence. You heard Walker, he thinks this case will never even go to trial, that he'll get off scott-free, and after everything, we cannot allow that to happen!” 

 

“Well, collecting evidence would've been fine, boy, but you took it a little further than that, ya idjits! We had strict protocols in place, and then you boys just had to push it and now an agent is dead!”

 

Cas knew the guilty and grief-stricken look on Sam's face was also mirrored on his own, causing Bobby to soften a mite.

 

Sam spoke up timidly, attempting to placate the older agent. “Sir, by one theory, that already happened. We just changed the how and the when.”

 

Bobby gazed at them ruefully. “We're done, boys. Power it down. Pack it up. Onto the next case.”

 

“What about Dean?” Cas asked lowly. 

 

“Look here, boy, charging Walker in the Winchester murder is just gonna raise too many questions about how we obtained the evidence in the first place. I don't like it any better than you do, but we just can't risk it,” Bobby told him regretfully.

 

Cas cleared his throat, trying to tamp down all the helpless rage and sorrow he felt. “I understand that, sir, but what about Dean? Are we just going to drop the case? He deserves justice. His mother has a right to know what happened to her son.”

 

Bobby sighed tiredly, tipping his FBI cap up with one hand to rub at his forehead. “Listen, we got him on the ferry bombing, we got him on the murder of a federal agent. That's enough to get him the death penalty by lethal injection twice over.”

 

Clenching his fists and raising his chin, he looked the older man straight in the eye. “I cannot accept that, sir.”

 

Cas could feel Sam's stare burning a hole in the side of his face, but he didn't care. He couldn't let Dean go.

 

Bobby, however, snorted irritably, his patience clearly coming to an end. “I don't give a rat's ass what you can or cannot accept, princess! It doesn't matter anyways, it's not up to you! Dean's a lost cause, he's already dead--”

 

“Walker's gonna kill him!” Cas burst out angrily. “In twelve hours, he's gonna kill him.”

 

Bobby glared at him incredulously. “What the hell's the matter with you, boy?! He killed him four days ago! You saw his body on the slab. You were at the funeral! That's it, you're done. You need to go home and get some rest, get your head on straight. This case has you all twisted up, you need to let it go.” 

 

Bobby spun on his heel and stomped off, grumbling the whole way, the door clanging shut behind him. Cas glowered after him, before glancing over at Sam, whose hangdog face and puppy-dog eyes were in full effect. Cas wanted to be pissed at him, but knew that Sam was only doing his job, and had been duty bound to tell Bobby what they'd gotten up to, for better or worse. In this case, it had been much worse.

 

“It had to happen. I delayed turning in my report until we caught Walker. But, hey, mission accomplished, right? This was a victory, Cas.” Sam tried in vain to cheer him up, but Cas ignored him and stalked off, exiting the building, furious at the whole situation, but also immeasurably tired and heartsick.

 

Sam chased after him as he headed for his car. “Hey! My job is closure! Your job is to help facilitate that closure--”

 

Cas whirled back on him, forcing Sam to draw up short. “You know my fucking job so well, Sam? Then fine, you tell me, what am I supposed to tell Mary?”

 

“You tell her we caught the son of a bitch!” Sam exclaimed.

 

But Cas only snorted and rolled his eyes bitterly. There was so much more to it than that. “You call this a victory, Sam? We didn't win anything here! Over 500 people are dead, how is that a fucking win?! All we have left now is loose ends and clean up,” he sneered.

 

Sam attempted to console him. “We can't save the victims. This whole situation sucks, but it's not our job to make the relatives feel better. You told me, we lose everything we care about, those are your words, but Cas, it's not your fault that Dean dies...that he died.”

 

Cas stared hard at Sam before shaking his head with a sad smile. “Yeah, that's one theory.”

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

Cas drove around aimlessly for a few hours, knowing he had paperwork on the case and other work he should be catching up on, not to mention he needed to check in with Balthazar too. He definitely should go home to check on Meg as well, but he just couldn't find a shit to give about any of it right now. Maybe Bobby was right, he needed to clear his head. He knew he should go to Mary's house and tell her what had happened to Dean, but he just couldn't face her at the moment. Instead, he ended up at Dean's house. 

 

The front door was locked and blocked off with yellow crime scene tape but Cas used the spare key Mary had given him to quietly enter. Inside, more yellow crime scene tape was strung about like streamers at a party, but it was as far from festive as you could get. 

 

Fingerprinting powder coated every surface and numbered cards where evidence had been gathered. Dean's normally tidy house had been turned upside down by the crime scene techs. Cas wandered through the empty house, silent as a ghost, taking a last long look at everything of Dean's that he had become so familiar with, feeling as though his heart was breaking.

 

Sammy was nowhere to be found and Cas assumed Mary must have come by and taken him home with her. The cat's absence reminded him of Meg, all alone at his house, and it was just one more thing to feel guilty about. 

 

Cas lingered longest in the kitchen, where he had spent hours watching Dean cook, dance around and sing. He stared at that goddamned joke of a sentence on the fridge until he thought the appliance might blow up with the force of his glare. 

 

U CAN SAVE HIM

 

Well, he'd failed spectacularly at that, hadn't he? Missouri had been wrong. He couldn't save Dean. He hadn't been able to in this timeline, or in however many other timelines he might have tried, if you believed in that branching multiple universe bullshit. 'This time, you will!,' she had said. And he had believed her, had fallen hard for it, lock, stock and barrel. Well, even psychics, as he suspected she might be, could get it wrong every now and then. It was just too bad that this was one of those times when they got it wrong.

 

Finally, he left Dean's house, locking it back up behind him and wandering down the street for a couple blocks, his mind trying to analyze a myriad of thoughts all at once. This couldn't be how it all ended, there had to be a way to fix things, to save Dean. There just had to be. Without knowing it, he had stumbled onto the case of his life, the one that would change him in a million different ways and he couldn't let it go, couldn't walk away.

 

It was as he passed by a Baptist church a few blocks down that something caught his eye, or rather, the sound of a choir practicing reached his ears first and when he glanced in through the open doors, it wasn't the colorful golden robes of the joyful singers that drew his gaze, but instead a large blue and white sign pinned up on the information board.

 

He moved in closer, like a moth to a flame, the blue letters of the sign seeming to glow welcomingly at him and he felt as though he had been struck by lightning. 

 

The notice was for the Baptist church's upcoming revival. 

 

And suddenly everything came together, the puzzle pieces snapped into place and he knew what he had to do. Maybe subconsciously, he'd known all along. He had to go back. And he'd just thought of a way to make it work.

 

“Revival,” Cas whispered aloud breathlessly. That was the answer! He turned on his heel and rushed out of the building, racing back up the street to his car. 

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

Driving once more like a bat out of hell, Cas put in a call to Ash, who answered after only two rings and didn't sound surprised at all to hear from him.

 

“Hey, amigo. Well, I can't say I wasn't expecting this call...Look, you know what happens if you try this.”

 

“We both know what happens if I don't,” Cas retorted, even though he felt somewhat relieved that Ash already seemed to be on the same wavelength as him, apparently having guessed what he wanted to attempt. Even so, Cas quickly outlined what he intended to do, while Ash listened silently, but made no objections.

 

“Y'know, not a lot of guinea pigs _volunteer_ to die in the name of science,” Ash snorted.

 

“Uh huh, well it's your job to make sure I end up somewhere besides the morgue then, isn't it? So, are you gonna help me or not?” Cas grumbled, purposely ignoring the implication that he might get himself killed doing this.

 

“I'll see you when you get here.”

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

Hands shaking, Cas swiped the white ID card that Sam had given him twice to no avail. Irritated, Cas went to swipe it a third time, but the door suddenly opened with a pressurized hiss, Ash grinning nervously at him from the other side.

 

“You lost access to this place as soon as Bobby shut us down, so if you do that one more time, you'll set off every alarm in the joint,” Ash muttered, glancing around in a paranoid fashion before beckoning Cas inside.

 

In the lab, which was mostly powered down, the viewer screens dark and the lights all out except for a couple of desk lamps, Cas got a surprise in the form of Sam, who smiled at him sheepishly. “I figured you'd come here.” 

 

“Are you gonna have to put this in your official report?” Cas asked flippantly.

 

Sam gave him a flat stare back that was bordering on bitchface territory. “I'm here, aren't I? I came to help, off the clock. Bobby doesn't know, and God willing, he'll never find out, because he'll kick my ass six ways to Sunday!”

 

Ash pumped his skinny arm in the air, popping open a can of Red Bull one-handed. “That's the spirit, now let's get this shitshow on the road!” 

 

While Ash booted up the program, the screens flickering to life up on the wall, Sam sidled over to Cas. “The more I thought about it, the less I could let it stand, it's just not right how things ended. Dean's a good guy...was a good guy, whatever. Either way, he was an innocent victim and he deserves better, and if you think this might work, that you can change things and save him, then I'm in.”

 

Cas nodded gratefully, unable to speak, overwhelmed and not quite able to believe he was actually doing this. He squeezed Sam's shoulder in wordless thanks, smiling lopsidedly at him.

 

“Yo, if we're gonna do this, you need to strip, Cas!” 

 

Cas turned to glance at Ash, one eyebrow raised imperiously. “Excuse me?”

 

Ash grinned lasciviously, waggling his eyebrows back. “Seriously, dude. We gotta keep the mass as low as possible. So it's birthday suit time for you, my friend!”

 

Sam huffed out a laugh as Cas grumpily shed his windbreaker and started unbuttoning his shirt. He understood the need for undressing, but he was not thrilled to be time traveling butt naked.

 

“Can I take my gun with me?” 

 

“Nope,” Ash hollered from the other side of the lab where he was now fiddling around with what looked like a fuse box. “Like I said, gotta keep the mass as low as possible.”

 

Cas grunted and set his weapon aside, kicking off his shoes and socks and removing his ankle holster and knife before unbuckling his belt and sliding his slacks down his legs to pool in a puddle around his feet. Tucking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs, he went to tug them off as well, but Ash breezed by and stopped him. 

 

“You can keep your underoos on for now, man, not quite ready for the full-frontal yet,” Ash chortled, moving around the room like a whirling dervish, gathering up items and stuffing them into a duffel bag. 

 

“Oh, well, thank you very much!” Cas snarked, secretly glad for Ash's humor to help him from freaking out over what they were about to attempt. 

 

Sam must've noticed the look on his face though, because he edged over to lean against the wall next to him.

 

“You okay, dude?” 

 

Cas leaned against the wall too and folded his arms over his bare chest, taking a deep breath in through his mouth and letting it out with a noisy gust. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. I'm crazy, obviously, but I'm good.”

 

Sam bumped his shoulder in solidarity and smiled. “Crazy like a fox, maybe, if this works.”

 

“If it works, how will we ever know?” 

 

Sam's face scrunched up into a frown. “I guess we won't. Looks like I'd better tell you now that it was a pleasure and an honor to work with you, Cas.” Sam said sincerely, holding out his hand.

 

Cas clasped Sam's outstretched hand and shook it firmly. “Likewise, Sam.”

 

“Alright, ladies, I hate to break up this tender moment, but we are ready to rock steady and we need to do it now, time is of the essence,” Ash called out, standing at the entrance of the lab, fairly vibrating with energy and, most likely, Red Bull. Cas was amazed that he hadn't spouted wings yet, like the commercials always promised, from the sheer volume of the stuff that he drank. 

 

Cas shot a quick glance at Sam, who smiled back as reassuringly as he could. Cas cleared his throat. “Okay, let's do this!”

 

They followed Ash as he used his keycard to swipe the lab door open and then continued on down to the short corridor that Cas remembered from before, when they'd sent the note. The main warehouse area was mostly deserted, so Ash buzzed them past the security gates once more and they walked straight into the fenced in area that housed the enclosure where the hollow metal apparatus was. 

 

Shutting the heavy door behind them as quietly as possible, Ash moved forward and dumped his heavy duffle on the table, gesturing at Cas and Sam to come over to where he was. 

 

The computers were already booted up, the program primed and ready to go, Ash apparently having set the whole thing up remotely from the other lab. He now dragged out a handful of cables from his duffle and plugged in the last few wires before typing frantically on the keyboard for a few moments. The program made its familiar beeping and chirping noises, but it felt weird to Cas that Charlie and Kevin weren't here, and he wondered if he'd ever see them again. If Charlie's branching multiple universe theory was to be believed, this version of them would cease to exist, like they'd never met, they wouldn't even remember any of this happening. It was a chilling thought; if Cas survived this, he'd be the only person who was aware of everything that had actually happened.

 

“Hey, Sam, get into my bag and find a Sharpie for me, will ya?” Ash barked out, breaking Cas' train of thought.

 

Obligingly, Sam rooted around in the duffle til he came up with a fat silver Sharpie, tossing it overhand at Ash, who promptly flung it right back. “You're gonna write on Cas' chest.”

 

Sam glanced over at Cas with a surprised smirk. “Making me write shit again, huh?”

 

“You have such nice handwriting and an excellent grasp of spelling and vocabulary,” Cas deadpanned. 

 

“Fuck you,” Sam grinned, uncapping the silver pen. “What's the message this time?”

 

Cas thought for a moment, then he recalled the sign at the church that had given him the idea in the first place, and he knew what words to tell Sam.

 

“Revive me,” Cas answered, feeling his heart rate pick up, beating triple time with nerves. If this didn't work, he was a dead man. It may have gone unsaid by anyone, but it had not escaped his notice that this was, decidedly, a suicide mission on his part.

 

Sam nodded, leaning in close and bending down a little to put himself at eye level with Cas' bare chest, gripping his shoulder for balance. In large block letters he wrote the two words out, right across the middle of Cas' chest, staring at them for a moment when he was finished, before letting out a shaky breath. “God, I hope this fucking works.”

 

“You and me both,” Cas murmured. They both turned to look at Ash, who was muttering under his breath and still typing away. After a minute or so, he stopped and leapt to his feet, slightly startling Sam and Cas. 

 

“Alright, full-monty time!” Ash proclaimed, making grabby hands at Cas' boxer briefs. 

 

To distract himself from the mild embarrassment he felt at having to be totally naked for this endeavor, he asked Ash a question that had been niggling at his brain for awhile now as he slid his underwear off. “I thought you said you didn't believe in changing the past?”

 

“Right. I don't, not really. But, I also believe in God, so make of that what you will. Just don't tell anyone,” Ash winked at him before helping Cas climb into the giant, hollow metal apparatus. The metal tray with the glass slabs that had formed the clamp that had kept the note in place had been removed, leaving just enough room for Cas to squeeze inside, settling down with his knees up, pressed tightly to his chest, facing out. 

 

Cas smirked at him, trying to quell his nerves. “I'm gonna tell everyone.”

 

Ash chuckled and went back to the desk, and began chattering away while his fingers flew across the keys once more. “So I'm sending you back to a hospital, its the one closest to Walker's place, and I'll try to position you in, or as close to the ER as I can, so that they can revive you immediately when you land. If my calculations are correct, we're down to a little more than eight hours before Walker blows up the ferry. The program was shut down and we lost the live feed before we could witness Walker kidnapping Dean, but assuming everything is going according to what he wrote down in his confession, he's taken Dean by now and is holed up at that old bait camp, so that's where you need to go as soon as possible.”

 

Cas bobbed his head anxiously in agreement as Sam came up to the opening of the apparatus. “You all comfy?”

 

“Sure, it's like first-class on an airplane in here,” Cas bit out sarcastically. 

 

They stared at each for a long moment before Sam finally spoke up. “You know, the thing of it is, no matter how clever we think we are, the most probable outcome of this little experiment is that four and a half days ago, you get a call from the coroner's office. 'Hey, Agent Novak, you need to come down here, there's something you should see.' And the next thing you know, you're standing over a corpse...and it's you.”

 

Cas gazed back at him silently, thinking of Dean's battered body on the slab, cold and lifeless. It wasn't hard to imagine his own body on the same slab, his other self staring down in bewilderment at this unknown doppelganger.

 

_No!_ It wouldn't happen. He'd make this _work_. He'd fix things. He _would_ save Dean.  

 

Cas lifted his chin, staring Sam down, blue eyes burning and determined. “You can be wrong a million times. You only have to be right once. Besides, I think I'd remember if that happened, right?”

 

Sam pursed his lips and shrugged, worry weighing down the strong lines of his broad shoulders. Ash came up beside him and grinned, looking almost manic. “You ready?”

 

Cas bit his lip. “Not really.”

 

“You don't have to do this,” Sam cut in, the full force of his puppy-dog eyes pinning Cas in place. 

 

He peered back, trying to burn their faces into his memory, Missouri's words running through his mind. 

 

His smile was somewhat fatalistic as he whispered softly, “I'm pretty sure I already have, many times before.”

 

They both studied him for a few seconds, Sam still worried, but resigned now, a frown wrinkling his forehead and then Ash nodded decisively. “Right,” he said, moving back to swing the heavy bank vault-like door shut with a muted clang. 

 

Sam and Ash took their place behind the desk and Cas hugged his arms tight around his knees, trying not to quiver. It was fucking cold in this thing and while he'd never been particularly prone to claustrophobia, he was definitely beginning to see why some people were. 

 

Sam's voice came through suddenly, startling him. Apparently there was an intercom in here. “Cas. Hey, Cas? You okay in there?”

 

Cas laughed shakily. “Yeah, I'm good.” He giggled a little hysterically. “I'm beside myself.”

 

Through the small glass window in the door he could see Sam rolling his eyes, even as he and Ash both gave Cas a thumbs up. 

 

A few moments passed and Cas grew antsy. “Am I still here?” He called out.

 

“Yeah, for now, but not for long,” Ash confirmed, still pecking away at the keyboard, Sam beside him looking as impatient as Cas felt. He wanted to do this _now_ , before he lost his nerve altogether.

 

Cas started counting silently in his head. Sixty-three seconds later, Ash crowed, “Alright! We are ready, baby! You ready to boldly go, Cas?”

 

“Yes! I'm ready!” Cas answered stridently. “I'm looking forward to walking up to you four and a half days ago and blowing your mind!”

 

“Well, if that happens, maybe you can tell me what it's like to meet your younger self!” Ash cackled.

 

“Alright, I'll let you know,” Cas murmured, shivering and wishing they'd hurry up.

 

“Good luck, Cas!” Sam wished him. “And remember, the ferry blows at 10:50am on Fat Tuesday, okay?”

 

Cas nodded. Ha. As if he could forget.

 

“Here we go,” Ash warned. “See you yesterday.”

 

“God willing,” Cas muttered. The moment the words left his lips, a flash of emerald green light nearly blinded him, and he slammed his eyes shut tight as the wave of energy washed over him. Even with his eyelids closed he could still see the eerie green light scanning over him repeatedly, accompanied by the same shrill, high-pitched ringing noise he'd heard before when they'd sent the note. The frequency was so high and distorted and the green light so bright and disorienting, that just when he thought he was going to succumb to a seizure, with his head about to implode and his brain ready to turn to jelly, thankfully, everything went dark. 

 

The darkness was welcome, and for a moment, all was quiet and calm. Then a roaring filled his ears, as though he was in a vacuum, he felt as though he was being tugged and pulled at in all directions, he tried to put his hands up to protect himself, but they weren't even there anymore. Every cell, every atom of his make-up was being disintegrated, slowly vanishing, preparing to reappear in another place and time. He opened his mouth to scream, but there was nothing... _he_ didn't _exist_ here anymore. He _was_ time. He heard everything and nothing, his own voice and the voices of countless others. It was hard to describe sensation when he felt body-less, but it was as though a giant hook had snagged him around his bellybutton and was yanking him backwards through time. There were no distinct images, only snatches of conversations, shapeless blurs, and colors, all the colors. His consciousness joined the cosmos for a few precious seconds before he reformed on an empty gurney in Lake Charles Memorial Hospital, smack dab in the middle of the Emergency Room, his entire body seizing uncontrollably.

 

In the darkness, he faintly heard a male voice say: “Alright, hold on everybody. The reserve generators should kick in any second. Nobody move.”

 

Cas' eyes were still clenched shut tight and he could barely hear or feel anything over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears and the trauma of all his cells attempting to reshape and reform him properly, here and now, in this time.

Moments later, the lights started flickering overhead and with a loud hum, the power surged back on. 

 

Cas' body was shaking so hard it was causing the gurney to clatter around, which immediately caught the attention of a nurse, who rushed over in shock. “What the hell?! Where did this guy come from?!”

 

There was more shouting, the sound of bodies milling about and bright lights. Cas felt hands on him, injecting him with something and hooking him up to machines. Sticky patches were slapped onto his chest and he vaguely heard someone yell “Clear!” and then he jolted violently as an electric current was delivered, rushing through his body. Unable to hold onto his awareness any longer, Cas blacked out, his last lucid thought being that he hoped he hadn't just died.

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

Cas felt his consciousness snap back online relatively quickly, but it took the rest of him awhile to surface, as though he was ascending upwards from a long way down. He felt very tired and sore in his body, as though he been run over by a truck or something; his skin felt strange, loose and tight at the same time, like he'd been ripped out of it and shoved back in improperly. Time travel was clearly no picnic and definitely not for the fainthearted, Cas mused dazedly.

 

It took him a few tries, but eventually he was able to pry his eyelids open, however, everything was blurry and unfamiliar. Slowly the room came into view, cream colored walls, tubes, wiring and various machines were all in his direct vicinity, not to mention the unmistakable chemical, overly sterile smell that seemed to be a hallmark of hospitals, but still could never completely cover up the scents of ammonia and death. He could also hear the faint beep of the monitors regulating his vitals, which was kind of comforting, since it let him know that he was still alive.

 

So he'd made it. He'd actually traveled back and they must have successfully revived him in time. Thank god. Now he just had to get the hell out of here unnoticed and get to Dean before it was too late and also apprehend Walker.

 

That totally wasn't a tall order to fill, just all in a day's work, Cas thought wryly. Still, he'd known what he had to do before he ever attempted it. He could only hope that he was up to the task and that divine intervention was on his side; Walker was right, he was undeniably going to need it.

 

Glancing around himself, he noticed that his bed was partially curtained off, but there was another man about five feet away in the adjacent bed, with an oxygen mask over his face and a ventilator working hard to breathe for him. His bed was also sectioned off by the same blue curtains that surrounded Cas' bed and he realized they must be in some sort of recovery ward. Squinting, Cas saw that at the end of the man's bed hung a full set of clothes, with shoes and socks underneath and strangely enough, a large, potted peace lily.

 

Struggling a little to maneuver himself into a sitting position, Cas gazed around; it was fairly quiet in the ward, only two other patients besides Cas and the man next to him. In a far corner was a nurse's desk, with only one woman who had her back to him and who looked to be distracted by her phone conversation.

 

A television mounted up on the wall was tuned to the 24/7 news and weather channel, which was now showing the weather for the day. In the bottom corner of the screen, Cas saw that it was Fat Tuesday, 3:17am.

 

3:17am. So he'd been out for roughly an hour and now had barely seven hours to change the outcome of the ferry bombing and save Dean. He knew he didn't have a minute to lose and was going to have to make every second count from here on out.

 

Leaning forward, Cas swung his legs over the side of the bed and carefully stood up. His stomach swooped and he felt rather dizzy, but he ignored it as best as he could and instead unplugged the heart monitor he was connected to and gingerly pulled the IV out of his arm, before made his way over to the clothes hanging at the end of the man's bed next to him.

 

Feeling slightly guilty about the theft, he shed the thin hospital gown and quickly slid on pair of black chinos which were a tad big on him, but he left off the white boxers shorts, unsure if they were a clean pair or not, plus it would just be weird to wear another man's underpants, so he reluctantly went commando. Next, he pulled on a navy blue polo shirt which fit reasonably well and foregoing the socks, he slipped his feet into the sneakers which had easy velcro straps instead of laces. Lastly, he donned the beige raincoat which reminded him of his own trenchcoat, which oddly enough, gave him a sense of familiarity and safety.

 

His mouth was dry as sandpaper, so he paused to gulp down the glass of water not only at his own bedside, but also that of the man next to him as well.

 

Moving as swiftly as he dared, he snuck out of the recovery room without incident and made his way out of the hospital through a back exit which opened up onto a large parking bay filled with various cars and ambulances. An EMT and a couple of cops were seated at a small umbrella-covered table, obviously on break, smoking cigarettes and playing cards. There was going to be no way to sneak past them and he needed some transportation.

 

Gazing out over the parking lot, Cas did a double take when he recognized the ambulance that had been crashed and turned over inside Walker's house. So it had been _him_ who'd driven the ambulance through Walker's house? But it must not have worked, because Walker had still killed Dean and blown up the ferry...maybe in this parallel timeline, instead of saving Dean and stopping Walker, he'd gotten himself killed instead. Who knows how many times, in how many other timelines, he'd tried and failed? Missouri's words sounded again in his head...“You _can_ save him, _this time you will_.”

 

He had nothing left to lose, and in spite of his misgivings, he still found himself believing in her words. He knew that in this timeline, somewhere out there, there was a version of himself walking around, unaware of Dean, of Walker and of everything else that was about to happen. Well, this time, Cas was gonna stop all of it. He didn't quite have a plan, and was functioning mainly on adrenaline, but he'd done things on the fly before, maybe not quite to this extent and certainly not in such a situation where the odds were so stacked against him and it was life and death hanging in the balance, but he found that he didn't care. He'd make it up as he went and though it surprised him that he was willing to go to such great lengths to stop Walker and save Dean, it still felt like the _right_ thing, maybe the _only_ thing, to do.

 

With this in mind, he didn't even hesitate as he walked up behind one of the cops and tapped him on the shoulder. When the man looked around, Cas snatched the gun from his hip on the opposite side, flicked off the safety and cocked it, pointing it at the three men, who stared back at him in shock.

 

“Just stay calm, I'm a federal agent, and I'm gonna need the keys to your vehicle,” Cas intoned, gesturing with the gun at the EMT.

 

The men all had their hands up in surrender and the EMT spoke up. “The keys are in there, it's yours!” The man jerked his head at the very vehicle Cas had recognized.

 

Cas smiled. “Alright, put your hands down, place them on the table and keep them there.” He kept the gun trained on the men and backed up until he reached the door of the ambulance, then wrenched the handle open and darted inside. The keys were on the seat, as promised. Shoving the gun into one of the deep pockets of the beige raincoat, Cas wasted no time cranking the engine and peeling out of the parking lot.

 

He spared a quick glance in his rearview and saw the three men jumping up, no doubt launching into pursuit after him. Cas flipped on the siren and with a sharp swerve that squealed the rubber of his tires, cut across four lanes of traffic and got into the lane for the 10 to the Bayou. Walker's place was maybe ten minutes or less away if he kept up this speed, trusting that the sirens on the ambulance would keep traffic out of his way.

 

Checking the clock on the dash, he saw that it was 3:28am. Pressing the power button on the radio, he found that it was tuned to a local station, which was currently reporting the news.

 

“...Federal officials are still baffled by the massive blackout that darkened the entire eastern half of the country earlier this morning...”

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

Gordon Walker glanced up at the clock on the wall. 3:30am. He needed to hurry up here, he still had to load the barrels of explosives into the kid's car. Speaking of which, he needed to deal with the kid here quick too, had to make it look like he was just another victim of the bombing.

 

He smiled to himself. Everything was falling into place perfectly. Sure, there'd been a few bumps in the road, like that cop that showed up while he'd been casing the ferry and then having to steal the kid's Bronco, but it had all worked out. There was nothing like having divine intervention on your side. It made Walker feel invincible, untouchable. He knew he was carrying out God's will and nothing would stop him. He'd show this world, show them the error of their ways and he would be remembered forever for it. Hailed as a patriot, a goddamned American _hero._

 

He finished sealing shut the last barrel and wiped his hands clean on an old rag, then grabbed a dolly and began hauling the six barrels loaded with deadly explosives out to the Bronco. He returned to the house and headed to his worktable, on which sat a two gallon yellow plastic gas can full of diesel fuel. Hefting it up, he moved to stand in front of the kid, who immediately started thrashing around and mumbling through his gag and the cloth hood that Walker had secured around his neck with some rope, when he heard him approaching.

 

Walker paused. He hated to have to burn the kid alive; he'd much prefer to just shoot him in the head and get it over with. He killed when he had to, mostly monsters and evil sons of bitches, not civilians and didn't think of himself as a cruel person, but for this to work, the kid had to look like just another victim from the explosion and a bullet hole between his eyes would definitely give it away as murder.

 

With a sigh, he starting dousing the kid with the diesel, ignoring his muffled protests. Unexpectedly though, the kid managed to slip a hand free from the zip ties confining his arms behind his back and struck out wildly at Walker. Surprised, Walker accidentally dropped the gas can, slipping a little in the fuel, just as the kid managed to cuff him across the face, his fingers leaving bloody scratch marks. Walker grunted angrily, reared back and punched the kid hard in the side of the head, tipping both the kid and the chair he was tied to, over on its side. The kid laid still, most likely stunned or knocked out cold, it was hard to tell with the hood on his head, but his chest was moving slowly up and down, so Walker was pretty sure he'd cold-cocked him good.

 

When Walker touched his fingers to his cheek, they came away wet with blood and looking down, he saw that underneath the kid's short fingernails on the hand that was free, was blood and probably some skin too, which meant DNA that could be traced back to him. Dammit. He didn't have time for this shit! Growling obscenities under his breath he grabbed some shears off the nearby work table. He'd have to cut the kid's fingers off on that hand. He'd feed them to the gators to get rid of the evidence and with any luck, when the kid eventually washed up on shore and was found, the missing fingers would just look like the work of shrapnel damage from the bomb blast.

 

Nodding decisively to himself, Walker reached down and grabbed the kid's hand, preparing to slice the digits off, when the sound of something big crashing through the front gates had him jerking up and rushing over to the window. Staring out in bewilderment, he saw, amazingly enough, an ambulance bearing down on his house. Swiftly acting on his hunter instincts, he drew the gun that he'd had tucked into the back of his jeans and quickly took aim, firing through the glass at the oncoming ambulance, which seconds later, crashed in through the side of the house, flipping over til it was upside down, right in the middle of his work area.

 

Walker dove out of the way, trying to avoid all the flying debris and stood up as soon as the dust had settled a little, and finding the ambulance only a few feet away from him, immediately fired off more shots at the asshole driver who'd just smashed his place up. The man slumped over, and Walker was confident he'd hit him, which was just as well, since his clip was now empty. Tossing his gun away and snatching up his duffle bag which had more guns and ammo in it, he slipped out the side door, leaving behind the kid and the ambulance with its occupant.

 

Figuring it was best to cut his losses here even though it wasn't going according to his plan, Walker went around to the back of the house where there was a generator and some full propane canisters. Twisting the nozzles so that the fuel lines were open, he walked back around to the other side of the house, peering in through the wrecked side of the wall. He saw a man in a bloody beige raincoat crawling out of the broken window of the ambulance. The kid was still passed out on the floor a few feet away.

 

Who the fuck was this dude? Some junkie on a drug-fueled spree? Whoever he was, he starting to be a real pain in Walker's ass.

 

Unzipping his duffle, he drew out another loaded gun, and then called out to the guy. “Hey, asshole!”

 

The man jerked around in surprise and Walker fired a few shots at him, missing as the man ducked behind the front end of the ambulance.

 

Smirking, Walker shook his head. He really didn't have time for this shit. He ran to where the rest of the barrels loaded with explosives were sitting on the concrete pad next to the kid's Bronco and swiftly loaded them in the back where he'd already torn out the back seats to make more room. Hopping into the driver's seat, he started the car up and drove to the front gates, the mangled metal hanging wide open. Shifting into park, he stepped out of the car and making sure he was well out of range, took aim at the propane canisters against the side of the house which had been leaking for the last few minutes.

 

He'd kill two birds with one stone here. He'd planned to blow this place up anyways, there was too much trace evidence that could lead back to him. And while he didn't have time to dispose of the kid like he'd originally had in mind, this would probably do the job just as well. He fired off half a clip, hitting the canisters squarely, satisfaction filling him as they exploded, the house and everything inside going up in flames, the predawn sky lit up brightly.

 

This would have to do for now, he'd come back this afternoon, well after he'd set the bomb off at the ferry and salt n' burn whatever hadn't been destroyed. Hopefully the kid, as well as the gate-crashing asshole, would be burned beyond recognition. He'd have to wait too long to retrieve their bodies now to plant them and make them look like ferry victims. And later it would be too tricky and risky to try to dispose of them anywhere in the blast zone to make them appear as just more carnage from the explosion, what with all the law enforcement that was bound to be patrolling the crime scene, so he'd just have to feed the remains to the gators, same as he'd done with the cop.

 

When you had God on your side, things always just seemed to work out, no matter what, the solution always presented itself. Saluting the burning wreckage with a grin, Walker climbed back into the Bronco and drove off, heading for his place in the Ninth Ward, to lie low until it was time to go plant the bomb on the ferry.

 

 

~*~X~*~

 

 

According to the clock on the dash, it was 3:39am when Cas hung a hard right turn and hit the old dirt road that was muddy now due to the rain, unlike the last time he'd been on this road. Cas blazed down the dirt track, just like before, and up ahead he could see the same chain-link metal gates and fencing overgrown with hedges and brambles, only this time, it was all still intact.

 

_Well_ , Cas thought grimly, _not for long_.

 

Before all of this, Cas could never have imagined a scenario where he'd end up driving an ambulance recklessly into a structure where he knew there were civilians inside. But he knew he _could_ do this, that he _would_ do this, because he'd _already_ done it in the past, in other timelines, possibly multiple times. If ever there was a time to renew his faith in God, in something greater than himself, and to believe that through prayer he could gain some divine intervention, it was now. And so he took a moment to pray wholeheartedly, that _this time_ , everything would work out, or at least, that Dean could be saved and Walker stopped before he could commit anymore heinous crimes.

 

And while he had known that this was a veritable suicide mission, Cas had a bad feeling that he might not make it out of this alive. Charlie's belief, that in a branching universe, you could create a new branch if you introduced a significant enough event, was all well and good, but this was still unknown territory. A new branch, a new timeline, parallel to the original one, still flowing towards the future, just along a different route, most likely, would still terminate. The only question was, would it terminate before Cas was able to change things to enough of an extreme, that rather than ceasing to exist, it would instead merge with the original timeline, making it so that none of this ever happened? 

 

Cas was no stranger to sci-fi, and he knew that in many theories, it was impossible for two versions of one person to exist in the same timeline. And in this case, Cas was a man out of time, a visitor to a time that was not his own, he was an interloper, an anomaly that this timeline might possibly try to eliminate in order to balance things out. But it didn't matter. he had to believe that his actions could change things enough to create a new timeline...and if they didn't? Well, he smirked mournfully to himself, there was always next time, wasn't there?

 

As for now, no time like the present, so what was he waiting for?

 

He stamped his foot down on the gas and barreled forward, bursting through the gates easily, the heavy front grille of the ambulance practically tearing the gates off their hinges, barely slowing the large vehicle. The small compound was dead ahead, so gritting his teeth and hoping for the best, Cas kept his foot pressed hard on the gas and smashed directly into the side of the house, relying on his memory of where he'd seen the ambulance crashed before to guide him. The force of the collision caused the ambulance to flip over and he was glad he'd remembered to put on his seatbelt, otherwise he'd have gone flying through the windshield. As it was, the impact jarred him about badly, wood, plaster and glass shards flying through the air around him, causing him to fling his arms up over his face and clench his eyes shut.

 

Dimly, over the cacophony, he was sure he heard the sharp retort of gunfire and realized that Walker must be shooting at him. However, hanging upside down as he was, left him as a vulnerable target, yet even as he realized this and went to duck down, it was already too late and he felt a searing pain as a bullet punched high into his left shoulder. He quickly unlatched his belt, which was the only thing keeping him suspended and in the line of fire. He slumped down on his right side, clouds of plaster dust still hanging in the air as Walker fired through the windshield.

 

Thankfully, after only a few seconds, Cas heard the clicking of an empty chamber and knew Walker had run out of ammo, but he was also well aware that the man had plenty of other weapons, so he was not in the clear yet.

 

Then, from a few feet away, he heard a door open and then slap shut before all was quiet. The window on the passenger side of the ambulance had been completely shattered, and Cas managed to crawl through it, extracting himself carefully from the vehicle. There was blood all down the left side of his body, and after gingerly feeling around, high up on his back, Cas found the exit wound. The shot had been clean, through and through, which was a relief, it meant there was no bullet to dig out, but it also meant that he was bleeding profusely from two separate holes, not to mention plenty of other cuts and lacerations. Clamping his hand over his left shoulder, trying to keep pressure on the gunshot wound, he warily straightened up, drawing the gun he'd appropriated from the cop earlier and peering around.

 

But Walker was nowhere to be found.

 

Panting in pain and choking a little from all the dust in the air, Cas edged around the corner of the vehicle, pausing at the front of the ambulance, using it as cover in case Walker came back inside with more firepower.

 

However, it appeared that there was no one else inside the house besides him, and hopefully, Dean. Crossing in front of the ambulance, he spotted a worktable that was half hidden under part of the caved in roof and other debris and just beyond that, prone on the floor, collapsed on their side, facing him, was another person.

 

The person had a brown cloth hood over their head but Cas didn't even need the visual confirmation of a face to know that this was Dean. He immediately recognized the black Led Zeppelin t-shirt and green over-shirt the man was wearing, along with a pair of battered jeans and only one foot wore a sock. The memory of those clothes singed and torn was emblazoned in his memory. Dean was so still though, unmoving, and Cas could only hope that perhaps he'd been knocked out cold by the crash and that he wasn't instead, dead already.

 

His attention was abruptly diverted though by a shout off to his right and he barely caught sight of Walker outside through the ruined wall of the house. He had a large duffle bag slung over his shoulder, with a gun in his hand and he was aiming it straight at Cas.

 

“Hey, asshole!” Walker hollered, before firing off four shots.

 

Cas dove back behind the cover of the ambulance, the bullets whizzing past him, much too close for comfort, with his wounded shoulder screaming in agony at the sharp movement. He had lost hold of his weapon when he threw himself down, which left him unable to even get off a shot back in retaliation and hated the feeling of being so defenseless.

 

Luckily for Cas though, not only did Walker miss him, but he didn't continue to try to shoot him either, in fact, he heard footsteps running away and shortly thereafter, an engine cranking as a car was started up.

 

Ignoring the bruising aches and pains all over his body and with no time to lose, he darted forward and scooped Dean up under his armpits and started dragging him over to the closest exit, which was the screen door that he had heard slap shut when Walker vacated the house. Dean was drenched in what smelled like diesel fuel and had, in fact, been lying in a puddle of it when Cas hefted him up and he realized in horror that he must've interrupted Walker just in time, just as he was about to burn Dean alive.

 

They were nearly to the door when gunshots rang out and then it seemed like the entire structure just exploded. The blast was so loud Cas felt his ears pop and the very air around him was fire and smoke. He clung tight to Dean as he felt himself lifted off his feet by the force of it and flung through the air, only to smash through the screen door as they were thrown clear of the house, landing hard on the graveled driveway outside.

 

Cas lay stunned with Dean, miraculously enough, still in his arms, trying to take in a breath as the wind had been completely knocked from his lungs, but the air was so smoky, all he could do was choke and gag. The man in his arms was still totally unconscious. He hoped that the hood over Dean's head was sparing him from the worst of the smoke and flames, but they were still too close to the burning building for his liking, so with great effort, Cas got onto his hands and knees and with his arms looped securely around his precious cargo, he hauled Dean as far as he could until the pain in his shoulder made his strength give out.

 

It ended up being a good thing that Cas had moved them, because moments later, a secondary blast shook the very ground beneath them, as the fire reached something else highly flammable and ignited it. Who knew what kind or how many explosives or other incendiary materials Walker had in that place, but Cas didn't want to be any closer than necessary. He threw himself over Dean's prone form, shielding him from the blast as best as he could, as more little flaming chunks of debris rained down upon them.

 

After a couple minutes, the air cleared somewhat and Cas raised himself up a bit, brushing smoldering splinters of rubble off of himself and Dean. Glancing around, he saw that only a few feet away was the black and white Blazer that Walker had used to case the ferry and had also carted Gabe's bloody body away in. The vehicle looked mostly untouched by the inferno and as the ambulance was a total lost cause, Cas figured he and Dean could escape this place in the Blazer instead.

 

Dean's red and tan Bronco was nowhere to be seen, and Cas deduced that Walker must've used it as his own getaway vehicle, presumably with the barrels of explosives on board. It was much too early for Walker to try to plant the bomb on the ferry yet; the only logical place for him to head now to lie low, was his residence out in the Ninth Ward. Cas thought about possibly following him there, to attempt to head him off before he could go to the ferry, but the sharp throbbing pain and blood sluggishly leaking from his shoulder from the gunshot wound convinced him that the odds of that being a good idea were close to nil. He had lost his weapon, was injured and there was also Dean to think of.

 

Speaking of which...he looked down from where he'd been blearily staring off into space, trying to figure out his next move, to the still immobile form of Dean, crumpled on the ground in front of him. Cas almost couldn't believe Dean was truly here, _alive_. Not to mention glad to see that he still had all of his fingers. Hesitantly, he reached down and squeezed the same hand that had been mutilated and missing digits when he'd first seen Dean on the slab at the coroner's office.

 

Dean appeared just as battered and bruised as he did and his heart ached at the sight of Dean's feet still bound together by duct tape. The bonds on his wrists had snapped free thanks to the force of the impact of whatever explosives Walker had set off, but it was worrying to Cas that Dean was so unresponsive. He may have internal injuries or bleeding that Cas knew nothing of. He undid the ties at Dean's ankles, noticing that both socks were gone now, leaving Dean barefoot. Cas checked the pulse in his wrist, which was thready, but strong, and saw in relief that his chest was steadily moving up and down.

 

Cas found himself desperate to see Dean's face for himself, but as he went to loosen the rope from around Dean's neck to remove the hood over his face, Dean suddenly thrashed awake with a muffled groan. Unable to see, he lashed out at Cas, probably thinking that it was the same man who'd kidnapped him.

 

“Wait a minute! Hey, it's okay! Dean, it's alright, I'm not him, I'm here to help you!” Cas tried to comfort, even as Dean continued to flail around, slapping and hitting at Cas and even trying to get his thumbs into Cas' eyes, presumably to gouge them out.

 

Cas couldn't find it in himself to be mad though, if he was in Dean's position he'd be doing the same thing too, but he had to make Dean understand that he wasn't an enemy, but rather, a friend.

 

However, Dean seemed on the edge of hysteria, though who could blame him, after what he'd been through. He wasn't listening to Cas' attempts to explain himself and kept struggling, impeding Cas' efforts to hold him down so he didn't hurt himself and to get the hood off his head .

 

Yet Cas kept trying. “Dean, it's okay, I'm a federal agent, I'm here to help,” Cas repeated loudly as he finally pulled the hood clear of Dean's face and wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders to subdue him so he could calm down.

 

Wide-eyed, Dean stared up at him uncertainly, duct tape sealing his mouth shut as he heaved breaths in noisily through his nose, which was bloodied. Cas ripped the tape off in one go and Dean gasped like a fish out of water, his green eyes wild with fright, but still defiant, tense in Cas' hold, ready to go down fighting, making Cas admire him all the more.

 

“You're safe, it's alright, you're alright, okay? I'm a federal agent, you're safe, I'm here to help,” Cas repeated gently. “You're safe, okay? Look at me, he's gone, alright?”

 

Dean gazed at him doubtfully for what felt like a short eternity and Cas knew he must be trying to decide if Cas was trustworthy or not, but after a few moments, he must have made up his mind that Cas was telling the truth after all, because his expression relaxed slightly, his green eyes welled up with tears and he slumped forward into Cas' embrace, breathing heavily as he cried tiredly.

 

“Get me out of here!” Dean croaked. “Get me the fuck outta here!”

 

Cas felt like crying himself as he hugged Dean tightly, glorying in the sound of his voice and the feel of his warm, very much _alive_ body encased in his arms. But instead, he just chanted nonsensically, over and over, “It's okay, you're alright, everything's okay.”

 

He never wanted to let go of Dean, but Cas knew that time was not on their side and they needed to get the hell out of here. He leaned back a little so he could see Dean's face and wiped away the blood from underneath his nose with the edge of his sleeve. Dean peered back at him, still looking kind of shell-shocked and Cas wished he had more time, wished he had forever to lose himself in Dean's sea-green eyes. But he didn't. They had to move.

 

“C'mon,” he coaxed, “we need to leave, okay? We gotta get somewhere safe.”

 

Dean nodded bemusedly, wobbling as he tried to get up on his feet and so Cas grasped him under the arms and pulled him into a standing position. Dean leaned into him wearily and Cas let him rest for a moment, savoring the sensation of being able to just hold the man he'd been watching over for days and had maybe fallen a little in love with in the process. It didn't matter that Dean reeked of diesel fuel or that Cas' shoulder felt like it was on fire, this was a small piece of heaven to him, right here, right now. Secure in the knowledge that Dean was _alive_ , that he'd succeeded in saving him. And Cas intended to keep him alive and safe, so they needed leave immediately.

 

“I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?” He whispered into Dean's ear.

 

“Alright,” Dean mumbled back, clenching his hands in the lapels of Cas' borrowed raincoat.

 

Cas glanced down and saw that Dean's feet were already cut up as it was, due to being barefoot and there was glass and other sharp bits of debris littering the ground around them and their getaway vehicle, so he'd have to carry Dean to the car if he didn't want to risk further injury. The car wasn't too far away though, only a few yards, Cas thought he could manage it. Uttering a silent apology to his already damaged and excruciatingly painful shoulder, he sighed and scooped Dean up in a bridal carry, grunting a little at the strain.

 

Dean groaned a little too, before grumbling, “I _can_ walk, y'know.”

 

“Not barefoot over glass you can't, not on my watch!” Cas retorted, trying to focus past the pain in his shoulder and the exertion of carrying around a muscled, six-foot-plus tall man.

 

Dean must've been hurting as bad as Cas was, because he fell silent and allowed Cas to load him into the Blazer without comment, looking as drained and anxious to get away from this place as Cas felt.

 

Cas made sure Dean was comfortable and had his seat belt on before climbing into the driver's seat with more difficulty than he liked, belting himself in before rooting around in the cab to find something to staunch his wound with. He came up with an old rag, which wasn't ideal, but was better than nothing and used a discarded roll of duct tape to keep it firmly in place, applying pressure to the wound, which continued to bleed insistently.

 

Ignoring it for now, Cas cranked the engine on the Blazer, which started up after a few ragged coughs of the motor, and they got the hell out of there.

 

~*~X~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH. MY. GOD. They finally get to meet in person! It only took me 50k!!! ;-P Alright, guys, tell me whatcha think!

**Author's Note:**

> So, whatcha think? I love your comments and kudos, they keep me going! :-D


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